


outlasting the universe

by moonlitwriting



Category: SEVENTEEN (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Mutual Pining, Slow Burn, Strangers to Lovers, and reader is an astrophysics major, jeonghan being the best wingman, jihoon is a literature major, someone help soons access the web, this work might just be a crossover between dead poets society and the theory of everything
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-17
Updated: 2021-03-17
Packaged: 2021-03-26 01:34:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 23,508
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30098268
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/moonlitwriting/pseuds/moonlitwriting
Summary: jihoon meets you in the winter of ‘95 and you both find answers in each other to questions you didn’t think you were asking
Relationships: Boo Seungkwan & Reader, Lee Jihoon | Woozi/Reader, Lee Seokmin | DK & Reader
Kudos: 2





	outlasting the universe

**Author's Note:**

> cross-posting from my blog by-moonflower.tumblr.com!

_“And now for this week’s announcements. We’ve got something exciting coming up, don’t we, Seungkwan?”_

_“That’s right, Seok. Just a month ago, the first ever gaming console was released by Sony Entertainment in Japan. And guess what?”_

_“What?!”_

_“Worldwide shipping for pre-orders is meant to arrive this week! So, for those of you who—”_

Seungkwan’s voice was cut off by a sudden block of static and Jihoon groaned at the hassle it caused him. Jeonghan stirred in his sleep on the top bunk and the younger of the two hurriedly wobbled backwards to try and smack the radio off, while simultaneously zipping up his pants and pushing his arms through the sleeves of his turtleneck.

He figured it was about time to get a new radio—a new alarm clock too while he was at it. It was these cursed Monday mornings that he despised, late for an 8 a.m. which subjected him to two hours on an empty stomach.

Jihoon did, at least, feel grateful for having lived right on campus, whereby tardiness could be overcome by an extra sprint across the courtyards and the cobblestoned shortcuts in between buildings, for those who memorised them.

But that morning proved special. There was no reason in the world that should’ve slowed his rush from his residence to his class—excusing that cup of straight black coffee he quickly grabbed because he might actually _die_ if he had to attend class without one—but his body decided otherwise when he noticed you sitting on the bench on Front Lawn.

During any other time of the year, Jihoon often purposely avoided having to walk through the iconic university space—it was where the photos for the brochures were always taken. In the summer, the spacious, grassy areas were littered with students, either on picnics or much needed naps.

In the winter, however, the space was dead empty. Except for that day.

Jihoon’s creative writing class was just about to start so his clambering around was not a peaceful sight; the sweltering hot cup of coffee death gripped into one hand and a stack of notebooks he didn’t have time to pack into his bag held up by the other. He was just thinking about whether to take the pathway by the main library or the steps by the clock tower, but when his vision panned across his surroundings, your lone figure was enough of a distraction to forget his trail of thought entirely.

His sense of time slowed down right then, like the clocks tried to race with its ticking hand pushing through molasses. You were the only other person crazy enough to be awake and sitting there this early in freezing weather. And yet, you looked serene; sitting right there, under the stark naked branches, nose stuck in a book, and your face snug in a scarf that adorned a shade of blue he would never forget.

A demanding gust of wind picked up right then and Jihoon felt the shivers sneak into his coat and climb down his spine—mother nature’s friendly reminder that he should quit gawking at a stranger and quickly get his ass to class. He picked up his pace once again and headed towards the clock tower, stole one last glance as he walked by, the bells tolling exactly as the clock struck eight.

For the writing exercise he had to do that morning, Jihoon began with a description of the deep blue your scarf was.

* * *

Seokmin placed a handful of enveloped letters onto the dining table and slid them across the dark wooden surface towards you before putting his dinner plate down. “They mixed up our mailboxes again. Found these in mine.”

You pulled them closer to you, glancing at the recognisable handwriting for a brief second, then tucked the sides in so no corners stuck out. You beamed gratefully at him. “Thank you. I’ll let you know if I ever get your mail—”

He held a palm out to stop you, a small shake to his head. “Don’t worry about it, my parents live only an hour away, so if there was anything worth telling me through a letter, they’d probably just come down here and say it to my face.”

Seokmin was the owner of a smile that made anyone within a one mile radius feel nothing but comfort. You supposed that was why he made it easy for you to ask for help with your bags, your weak arms only able to do so much when you landed in the new city and lugged your suitcases across foreign pavements. If Seokmin hadn’t been the first one to befriend you, you would have surely gone with your original plan of turning into a hermit in the darkest corners of the library.

“Surely you get tons of fan mail, though?”

“What, from our broadcast?”

“Yeah.”

“They all go to Seungkwan’s,” he said with a laugh. It hadn’t been long since you knew him, but by now you could tell when Seokmin was cracking a joke. “I’m kidding, we don’t get fan mail. I swear you’re the only person that tunes in.” He paused for a little, in deep thought. “You and maybe two of my other friends.”

“No way.”

“Yes, way. _Anyway_ , do you think you’d be up for the segment?”

You retracted yourself from leaning on the table and avoided Seokmin’s questioning gaze.

As soon as he and Seungkwan found out you were an astrophysics major, they narrowed in on you like piranhas to get you to feature as a guest. You tried explaining to them that what you studied was _not_ astrology, that it was more science and math and definitely not compatibility between the signs or identifying today’s lucky item. Although Seokmin seemed slightly disappointed, Seungkwan still persisted for you.

“But I get shy in public,” you tried.

“You won’t be in public, it’s just me and Seungkwan.”

“But it’s broadcasted _to_ the public?”

“Again, it’s probably gonna be just me and Seungkwan,” he chuckled and the pearly whites won you over.

Later on, when you returned to your dorm quickly to put the letters somewhere safe, you flipped through to check the one familiar brown envelope, with the same stamp messily pasted onto the top right corner. You thought about opening it for a moment, but before you could translate that into action, you stuffed it under your mattress, along with the other, similar envelopes.

You weren’t particularly ready to see what your parents had to say yet.

* * *

“Give me a name,” Jihoon said, directed at no one in particular.

Knowing it was a rhetorical question, Wonwoo didn’t bother looking up. Soonyoung—who’s life’s mission is to annoy the hell out of Jihoon—dropped his pen altogether to answer. “Susan.”

“What?”

“You said to give you a name.”

Jihoon knew that his friends have never—and will never—give him any insightful suggestions whenever he worked on a story and he wanted to smack himself in the head each time he accidentally muttered a question out loud.

His ideas did flow that evening though, in a way that it hadn’t in a while. He was able to jot down a productive paragraph or two. But Jihoon realised a little too late that he might’ve based his protagonist on you. Your character was undeveloped for now and any traits that he expressed only came out of assumptions.

But he needed a name. Not your name of course—not that he knew it either—but because in the four back-to-back pages he’d already outlined, he kept referring to you only as the Girl in the Blue Scarf.

“What’s it for?” Wonwoo straightened his back, looked up to show some interest.

Jihoon didn’t question it. “A character. A girl.”

“What’s she like?”

The question came as a surprise. Jihoon usually had mind maps to describe his characters. He knew their names, their childhood trauma, how they would treat a rude waiter, or whether they preferred yoghurt over ice cream. They were usually mapped out long before he got to writing the first sentence of the plot.

But when Wonwoo dogeared his page and shut the novel in favour of listening to him, Jihoon was almost flustered.

What _were_ you really like? All he had for reference was that one encounter and even _that_ wasn’t anything meaningful, more so a brief, creepy, stalker-like observation. Jihoon thought it’s be ridiculous now to go into any sort of explanation but Wonwoo’s stare persisted, so he improvised.

“She’s a morning person.” A generic assumption, really. But Jihoon made use of context clues. No one would be sane enough to be awake that early on purpose, and _not_ for an 8 a.m. class. He recalled the way there was not a trace of drowsiness in your focused eyes, neither was there discomfort in the way you sat on the bench.

Wonwoo didn’t react so Jihoon was forced to continue.

“She likes to read.” The image of you under the bare branches was etched into the back of his brain. He realised he never really got a good glimpse of the book you were reading, which might’ve been a telling, crucial piece of information.

“She’s focused,” he added, “like she’s in her own world no matter what the weather. She doesn’t… Care about much that goes on around her because she’s got a lot to deal with in her head.”

“Sounds like you’re describing Wonwoo,” Soonyoung interrupted with a snort. Wonwoo proceeded to throw an eraser in his direction, then blocked out Soonyoung’s less-than-helpful, disrupting presence.

“Is this one a love story too?”

Jihoon nodded before he could really comprehend the question. His eyebrows knitted together as it only dawned on him he had set up a romance-centred plot, _again_. He was sure even the last few ones were love stories too. He had possibly written so many love stories that he couldn’t count them on one hand.

“So, what’s her problem?”

Jihoon blinked, caught by surprise again. “What do you mean?”

“The conflict. What’s her problem? Or rather, what’s _the_ problem?” Wonwoo repeated, pressing into the question firmly.

Moments passed in casted silence that not even Soonyoung was willing to speak up. Jihoon couldn’t come up with anymore assumptions at that point, couldn’t even fake an answer to get Wonwoo’s unmoving stare off of him.

So, he shrugged his shoulders and shut his notebook. “I dunno, yet.”

* * *

You watched curiously as Seokmin started to line his pillows against the door, made sure that the gap underneath was covered properly as he had done for the windows on the opposite wall. It was the most they could achieve to soundproof the room.

Meanwhile, Seungkwan was busy at the desk, testing the recording equipment with a repetitive chant of “testing, 1, 2, 3.” You thought it was rather funny that they were both so quiet and concentrated as they prepared for their radio broadcast.

In the meantime, you also scanned the drafted script one more time, to familiarise yourself with the running of the little show. Also to calm the nerves almost getting the best of you.

* * *

_“There you have it folks; planets, moons, stars, and everything unknown in the dark vacuum of space!”_

_“Now for some fun questions!”_

_“Fun questions, you say, Seungkwan?”_

_“Fun questions indeed.”_

Jihoon lifted his head up to glance at his roommate, currently reclining on Jihoon’s bottom bunk, hands folded behind his head and his legs stretched upwards, kicking against the bed on top.

Jeonghan would throw a suppressed fit if Jihoon ever turned the radio on while he was studying and usually, in the opposite case, Jihoon had no issue ignoring the extra noise. But for some reason, Jihoon felt particularly distracted by it, like he’s being _forced_ to pay attention to the eager words of the guest’s answers and having no clue that the voice belonged to a face he had seen before.

Finally, he sighed, swivelled around in his chair to face Jeonghan. “Can you turn it down?”

_“Let’s kill the mood—is the universe going to die?”_

_“Nicely done, Seungkwan.”_

Jeonghan turned to meet Jihoon’s stressed expression. He tilted his head curiously, always finding it rather amusing whenever Jihoon looked bothered. “Turn what down?”

_“Surely you read about these conspiracy theories too, Seokmin?”_

_“No, no. I’m too scared to read any of that.”_

Both the boys tuning into their friends’ radio broadcast chuckled at Seokmin’s innocent response. It only took Jihoon one look at his desk, seeing his opened notebook, its empty pages and pens strewn about, to convince him that taking a break wouldn’t do any harm.

_“So? Death of the universe, yes? No?”_

One second, then two of static silence between Seungkwan’s question and the response that came after. Jihoon found himself at the edge of his seat to hear it.

* * *

You almost wanted to laugh out loud at the stoic expressions Seungkwan and Seokmin were giving you, pupils growing as they waited for your answer. It was a valid question, you thought.

_“Theoretically, yes.”_

_“THE DEATH OF THE UNIVERSE!”_ Seokmin cheered, fists pumping the air as though he had just heard his favourite football team had won the match and Seungkwan wiped fake tears from his eyes. You couldn’t help but burst into loud cackles, thinking that the antics of these two wholly deserved their own real television show.

 _“Oh, wait a second! We’ve got a message sent in from a listener. Okay, this one’s for you._ How _is the universe going to die?”_

It had become a guilty pleasure, knowing the answers to these type of questions and being able to talk about them. It made you forget about the days that you had to suppress the ways you got excited. The days when you kept it all to yourself because no one in your family really wanted to hear that from you. Your heart rate increased with excitement, the bounce in your voice becoming an obvious thing.

And so you told them, every bit of theory you learned in classes and discovered through journal articles in the library.

You told them that stars were certain to have a lifespan of their own, collapsing into things that we know as blackholes at the ends of their lives. You told them how the sun itself was a star and it would someday die out as well, even if it would take a million light years, and that when it finally does, it would take the whole solar system with it.

The mood turns solemn at that fact, Seungkwan and Seokmin no longer giving you exaggerated, entertaining reactions but rather listening to you with lips slightly apart and eyes focused.

“ _Everything would be_ gone _?”_ Seokmin gasped, brows furrowed into an expression that made you almost regret having to tell him such a dark, grim fact.

“ _Everything_ ,” you confirmed. “ _The sun, the earth, our moon, the stars, the Milky Way._ ”

* * *

In an almost possessed state, Jihoon grabbed the nearest pen he could reach, scribbling something illegibly onto the corner of his notebook in a frantic motion, afraid that the sudden thought would slip from his fingers if he didn’t note it down right then.

“Inspired?” Jeonghan cooed, straining his neck slightly as though he could take a peek at what Jihoon needed to hurriedly write. “Be sure to thank me later for having the radio on.”

* * *

You only took notice of the cute boy sitting across from you when you plunked all your stuff onto the table and watched in horror as your pen rolled over onto his side.

Your biggest pet peeve was having to sit at the huge oval-shaped tables in the middle of the library, the ones that had no real division between one side and the opposite. More often than not, you ended up sitting across people that had no care or respect for your personal space and would have their things thrown around onto your side of the table.

So when your pen rolled over there like it had its own business, you quietly yelped as you made a grab for it, muttering constant apologies as you barely made eye contact with the boy who only glanced up at you from behind his book.

The library surely wasn’t a place for cute boys to be loitering about and you wished you had scouted the seat before actually taking it because you knew that with him sitting across, there was no feasible way you could concentrate on your studying without being hyperconscious about having to yawn or sighing exasperatedly when you stumbled on particularly difficult questions.

But no matter.

You unwrapped your blue scarf from around your neck and folded it neatly to drape over the back of your chair. You took out your notebooks—all three of them—and then your calculator, double checking the batteries.

Beginning with the first question, in which you had only read approximately five words, you swore you felt the boys’ eyes on you from across. You tapped the end of your pen against your notebook quietly, hoping the habit would distract you and pull your attention back to the questions you needed to solve.

* * *

“So, long story short, you didn’t talk to her?” Jeonghan drawled, attention seized by the light of the computer screen before him, fingers slowly tapping the large keys.

“She was doing maths or something… Physics?” Jihoon swung his legs over the backrest of the sofa, dropping his back onto the leather to stare up at the ceiling. “You think she might be doing engineering? Or astronomy maybe…” Jihoon rambled on.

Neither of them were meant to be down there at the common room this late but Jeonghan, as stealthy as always, knew how to sneak past the RA.

“She was solving equations for like, a whole hour,” he continued.

“And you were watching her for that entire hour?”

“I was _reading_ ,” he corrected, although Jihoon couldn’t recall a single word of that chapter he was meant to finish. “And doing research,” he added, after some careful thought.

It wasn’t a lie, though. If Jihoon really meant to base his protagonist off of you, he ought to know more about you.

Tonight alone he learned a plethora of things; like how you picked your lips often when you were focused; or how you tapped the end of your pencil on the paper when you couldn’t solve a question quite as fast. Frustration was visible in the way your forehead creased and how you rubbed your temples. He could even tell from your soft, exasperated exhales…

“Did you hear me?” Jeonghan repeated, who now stood over Jihoon to block his view of the lights that hung down.

Jihoon stammered, blinked a few times. “What?”

“You’re going to Wonwoo’s this Saturday, right?”

“Oh,” Jihoon pushed his weight to try and sit upright. “Yeah, I guess.”

* * *

The doorbell rang in Wonwoo’s flat, interrupting the discussion, and your chest tightened into double knots. Group projects were dreadful enough but when Wonwoo mentioned he was having a small ‘get-together’ after the meeting, you had hoped you’d be out of there before any crowd of strangers would show up.

But it was too late—the muffled chatter of boys began to fill the room outside the kitchen, whooping and low-toned shouts followed by a random chorus, singing along to the tune of the new Whitney Houston song. You could’ve sworn Seokmin was amongst those voices.

“Shut up!” Wonwoo yelled from his seat, facing the door like he was waiting for the intruders to barge in. When no one did come in, he turned back to face your group. “Sorry, they’re a little early.”

Right on cue, a head peeked through the half wall that divided the kitchen from the living room, a pretty blonde boy cocking his head towards the sight of the four of you seated around the kitchen counter with notebooks and calculators scattered unceremoniously on the surface.

He eyed the owner of the flat narrowly. “You said to come today right, Won?”

Wonwoo waved a flippant hand in his direction. “Yeah, we’re just finishing up. Keep it down for a bit. _Please_.”

The blonde boy clicked his tongue and shot a finger gun before disappearing.

Wonwoo turned back to the table, an apologetic smile gracing his face again. “Where were we?”

You spoke up then, hoping to get everything finished so you could leave before any other guests arrived. “We’re done with the calculations, right? All we need to do now is to line up the coordinates onto the graph.”

“Cool. Then we just need to set up a bulletin board for the presentation,” someone else chimed.

Everyone nodded in agreement and you felt somewhat relieved that the meeting was nearing its conclusion. For the first time you had taken the initiative to divide tasks and you made sure everyone understood what was meant to be ready by the next meeting.

Then the kitchen door swung open with such carelessness that the hard force caused it to bang against the hollow partition wall. A boy stood dead-centre with a startled look, like he hadn’t meant to open the door that hard. Your mouth almost hung open when you recognised him to be the boy from the library.

“ _Jihoon_ ,” Wonwoo sighed.

“Sorry, sorry,” the boy, who you now knew as Jihoon, muttered.

Your group seemed to resume the discussion but you couldn’t find your voice to participate anymore because the boy—Jihoon—quickly scanned the new faces at the table, met your gaze in an instant and froze too obviously in his step. Wonwoo seemed to take notice that his friend was still awkwardly standing by the doorway.

“Cola’s in the fridge,” he reminded him and Jihoon nodded fervently as he walked quickly towards the fridge and hurriedly grabbed two bottles before scurrying back out like a mouse.

* * *

How you ended up staying at Wonwoo’s for longer than you intended, left you utterly dumbfounded.

Just as you were about to leave, having already wrapped your scarf back around your neck, your eyes wandered curiously to see the boys playing the new PlayStation in the living room. As a science student, it was hard not to keep up with all the latest technology, so you’d only briefly read about the new game console in the newspaper. You didn’t think anyone you knew would have one so soon.

“Wanna play?” The voice crept up from behind you and you turned around to be met with the blonde boy from before. He swiftly brushed his hair out of his face, standing intimidatingly close to you.

He introduced himself as Jeonghan, immediately establishing rapport by saying he knew Seokmin too. Before you even really had a chance to react though, he ushered you into the living room encouragingly, introducing you to many names and faces you had already forgotten.

As quick as dominoes falling, everything happened so fast that somehow your scarf hung back on the rack with the other coats and you found yourself leaning back into the armrest of the sofa with a bottle of Cola in your right hand.

“Anyone wanna play truth or dare?” A boy you were half-sure named Soonyoung suggested, dragging the coffee table to the side to make space in the middle of the room. Everyone started to gather around in a circle.

Seokmin, who nicely enough sat next to you, suddenly shot up in the air with pumped fists. “Truth or dare! Truth or dare!”

“Seok, you’d do a dare even if we weren’t playing truth or dare.”

“That’s true.”

“Seven minutes in heaven?” Someone else suggested, a bashful look in their eyes. You didn’t like where this was going.

The boys then started making random disgruntled noises and it took you awhile to realise that it was the sound of agreement.

“Are you all stupid? We’re not in high school,” a voice commented. You looked up to see that it came from Jihoon. He met your eyes just as immediately and looked away as quick.

Jeonghan caught the brief interaction, always paying close attention, and he quickly got onto his knees. He reached out to place an empty Cola bottle in the middle before anyone had any say in changing the game.

“Seven minutes in heaven it is! Jihoon is going first!” Jeonghan announced, spinning the bottle at lightning speed despite Jihoon’s physical _and_ audible protests.

There was a part of you that shook in utter anxiety to sit this one out—all you’d have to do was casually shift onto the sofa and just announce you didn’t want to play. No one was forcing you to be here anyway, you knew that. But as much as you’d rather be on your way home, the atmosphere here was much warmer than the wintry winds waiting for you outside. As cheesy as it was, other than just Wonwoo’s heating system, you felt the warmth of their friendship. It was, admittedly, _nice_ to be there.

So you watched the bottle spin like hypnosis, going round and round. It slowed down towards Wonwoo and everyone was on their toes, the suspense a physical feeling in the air—and, of course, whether it was Jeonghan’s cheat or the work of fate, the bottle stopped on you.

* * *

Jihoon wanted to murder _everyone_.

He had never felt his ears burn that hot before, opting to just jump out the window to let the air outside cool down the embarrassment shooting out of his pores. It didn’t help that everyone seemed to notice too, fingers pointed at his face and babied coos directed right at him. He didn’t even know how Jeonghan knew that the girl he kept talking about, was _you_.

Then again, Jeonghan was a smart guy. It never did take him long for him to catch on.

After much thoughtful discussion—in which neither you nor Jihoon was allowed to participate in—the boys decided to throw you both into the tiny guest bathroom next to the kitchen, lights off and door locked.

“Remember, you only get seven minutes!” Jeonghan sung from behind the closed door, obviously pleased with himself, his laughter fading out as he walked away.

Jihoon tried his best to back up into the wall opposite the door, as far back as he could to avoid accidentally touching you. The only light source was a small window up above the toilet and Jihoon was considering shimmying himself out from there.

But you broke the silence.

“Um,” you began, your body still turned to the door.

Jihoon really didn’t know what to do in his panicked state. He was either going to combust from sheer distress or just implode because of the proximity between you and him. _You and him_. His heart thumped loud like bass drums and he hoped you hadn’t heard it.

Then, he figured he should at least apologise on behalf of his friends.

“Sorry!” He blurted out, _not_ according to plan. The word barely came out, breathy and weak.

You let out a small laugh at that and Jihoon wanted to punch himself for thinking the angels were singing. He had always gagged when that same metaphor was used over and over in the romance works he was assigned to read, but now it was ironic, that it was the only way he could describe what your laugh sounded like.

You turned around, finally, with a sympathetic look. “It’s okay.” Your voice was dainty as you leaned your back onto the door and slid down to sit on the cold tiles. You hugged your knees up to your chest and Jihoon wished he had a jacket on to give you.

“I’m… Jihoon.” He joined you on the floor, leaned his head to the side against the cold ceramic bathtub. If either of you stretched out your legs, your toes might’ve touched.

Your lips curled into a knowing smile, as if that was a piece of information you had somehow already known and then you introduced yourself too—your name becoming a precious keepsake on his lips when he repeated it quietly to himself.

All that is between the both of you now was the bitter air that crawled in from the exhaust fan and the dimming moonlight that screened over your face. He couldn’t believe that this moment was real; that someone like you was real. The light shined from an angle that caused your lashes to cast shadows under your eyes.

If he was a little braver, he wanted to reach out and brush his fingertips against them.

A muffled cackle erupted from inside—Soonyoung, Jihoon was sure—and an airy giggle escaped your lips, reminding Jihoon that you were actually right there in his presence. That you were not a figment of his fictional work but a living, breathing, person. _How many minutes have gone by?_

“So, are you in Wonwoo’s physics class?”

You hummed, “astrophysics major.”

Jihoon whistled at that. The sound of any study amongst the hard sciences had always left him impressed. “Astro… as in astronomy?” He didn’t think to wait for your response. “That’s like, stars and moons and space, right?”

You nodded, the gesture encouraging him to go on. “And physics… so, like, gravity? Forces, energy… but… in the universe?”

The words were disjointed, stuttered, uncertain, and downright unintelligent. Jihoon caught the way his hands were in the air, as if gestures made his speech any more articulate. He crossed them over his chest then, mortified over how else he was going to humiliate himself in front of you.

But when you looked up, you beamed at him like a subtle light could radiate off of you.

“That was totally wrong, wasn’t it?”

You shook your head. “Not at all, that’s exactly it.” You shuffled in place now, loosening the hold you had over your legs. “You could easily pass off as one of us. No one could guess you’re actually doing literature.”

At that, his eyes grew wide. “How did you know I’m doing literature?”

But before you had the chance to reply, before Jihoon could make sense of the way you hid your face, the door behind you was unlocked and yanked open without so much of a warning. You fell backwards at that, but quickly held up your weight with your arms.

“Seven minutes are up!” Jeonghan chirped. He peered into the bathroom intrusively and proceeded to look disappointed to find that neither you nor Jihoon were where Jeonghan had hoped you’d be.

Jihoon glared at the other pairs of eyes from behind, the other boys all trying to sneak a peek into the bathroom, hungry for crumbs— _anything_ to indicate how the both of you spent those seven minutes alone.

* * *

College crescent was a ghost town on early weekend mornings; an eeriness to the quiet, thinned out fog slowly dissipating with the rising sun. You drew open the bleak, beige curtains to look out the window only to find the view blurred by running condensation that contrasted your warm room against the chilly air outside. The oval grass that centred the crescent was empty, void of any rugby or soccer practices usually held in the afternoons.

As its name suggested, college crescent was a crescent-shaped area rearing the university campus. It was lined with residential colleges—or dormitories, as some people liked to call them. Wonwoo had been the only person you knew who could afford living off campus but you suppose that shouldn’t have come as a surprise, given he could actually get his hands on the PlayStation the very week it came out.

But the inside of the residence was as dead quiet as the outside. You knocked on Seokmin’s door as softly as you could, loud enough for him to hear if he was awake but also soft enough so that it didn’t jolt him up if he were asleep. You had already suspected the latter but you knocked anyway, wanting to treat him for breakfast as a gesture of gratitude for having taken you out bowling the other weekend with Seungkwan and the other guy, Soonyoung.

By the third knock and with no sound of any rustling coming from inside the room, you assumed your suspicion was right. So, you hopped down the stairs on your own, happy to get breakfast on your own and go for a leisurely walk.

But upon carefully shutting the heavy front door of the lobby, with the subtle click of the automatic locks, nothing—and you mean _nothing—_ triggered your fight-or-flight response faster than seeing Lee Jihoon loitering outside the gates of your residence.

You turned around immediately like muscle reflex, U-turning away from him with a squeak in your sneakers and grasping back at the cold metal door knob only to let a realisation dawn on you; you forgot your keys.

Inevitably, Jihoon called your name and you held your breath. Slowly, you turned around to feign surprise. “Oh? Jihoon?”

“Hi, uh… I forgot you live in the same college as Seokmin.” He lifted his arm up to scratch the back of his head, his hands lost in the oversized sleeve of his jacket.

“Are you looking for him? I could go and wake him up if—”

“Oh, he’s not awake yet?”

“Not yet, but I can just—”

“No, no. It’s fine, I just wanted to see if he wanted to get breakfast.”

Your heart was rock-climbing up your throat with no harnesses whatsoever. Any sudden movement would cause the organ to drop into the pit of your stomach.

You hadn’t seen Jihoon since being locked in a bathroom with him that one time but that didn’t mean you didn’t think about the boy. Your introverted tendencies only allowed you to pick up the mere breadcrumbs that Seokmin or Seungkwan dropped, hoping you could get to know the boy without _actually_ getting to know him.

Because you listened more than you spoke, you found out Jihoon was a heck of a writer, a title supposedly embedded into his being, as though you could never separate Jihoon from the way he constructed his words. Seungkwan would quote his work like a modern day poet and if you weren’t paying enough attention, you would have assumed it was just literature talk of an old European author.

You made a mental list of the other things you found out too; Jihoon didn’t like to go out all that much, he was a rare breed of workaholic, he sleeps with one pillow, and Seokmin really, really adored him. Somehow, the random trivia stuck to you like a memorised incantation and you didn’t remember the last time you had ever been giddy over someone you barely even knew.

But of course, you were a master at not making it obvious. Hanging around Seungkwan trained you to do so because if Seungkwan could sniff out the way your ears perked at the mention of Jihoon’s name, you just might find your name signed at the end of a love letter you didn’t write.

Seungkwan was not there right now though, so there was nothing to really fear. It was cold and you were hungry and if Jihoon came all the way here to ask Seokmin out for breakfast, that meant he was probably cold and hungry too.

You took a deep breath to instil a little bit of courage. “I’m just about to go to the bakery down by the intersection. If… you know. If you wanna come?” Your veins were going to flip themselves inside out and entangle into ten thousand knots, then french braid into—

“Sure.”

* * *

The raisins you carefully picked from your pastry piled up onto the corner of your plate to form a tiny pyramid and Jihoon was too distracted to take a bite out of his chocolate danish.

“Why didn’t you just get the plain one?”

You shrugged. “This one tastes better. Just without the raisins.”

Jihoon thought his rib cage would burst open like a piñata by now, being in your presence alone for this long. But you carried an ease that made the silences feel more comforting than awkward. As though the empty spaces didn’t always have to be filled with small talk or nervous laughter—and that was okay.

“Do you come here often?” Jihoon asked as he took a bite of his own pastry. The outer crust was so crispy that crumbs stuck onto his lips and fell in drizzles onto his plate. He could easily tell it was freshly baked, a thin stream of steam rising from the insides and the chocolate melting onto his tongue. Jihoon didn’t even realise he was gawking at the bread, savouring the taste of it until you pointed it out with a light laugh.

“Good, right? I stumbled in here by accident at the start of the semester and I’ve been coming back as often ever since.”

The café was a small, cozy, cramped space. It only took four steps from the front door to the counter and all the tables inside were closely seated for two. Wooden craters piled up in the corner to establish a messy aesthetic, small green glass bottles with a single tulip in each of them adorned the tables. The walls were painted a warm pastel orange, a colour he never thought he’d enjoy. The owners of the café laughed out loud in big bellows behind the counter and Jihoon felt somewhat content.

“It’s _really_ good,” he mumbled, his eyes trailing back to the pastry.

You didn’t say another word. You both ate quietly—you staring out the huge glass window and Jihoon trying his utmost best not to stare at you.

“How do you know, Seokmin?” He then asked, curious but also hoping the question would give him a reason to look at you anyway.

“He was the first friend I made when I moved down here.”

“Your family doesn’t live around here?”

You shook your head too quick, an tired sigh accompanied with a polite, “no, no.”

Something in your expression told Jihoon there was more than you were willing to share at the moment. He wondered if you really missed your family. Or alternatively, if you’ve been wanting to get away from them.

“What about you?”

“Me?” Jihoon hummed. “It’s a bit of a drive back to my parents’ place. But they come down here often anyway.”

“Any siblings?”

“Nope.” He paused. “But I guess my roommate is as close as a brother I’d ever get—oh, wait. You’d know him, it’s Jeonghan.”

“Ah, right, yes.” You squint your eyes in thought. “The last time… I think I bumped into him somewhere on campus once—”

Jihoon’s pupils grew in fear, his mind racing through all the embarrassing things Jeonghan could and would say to you had you been alone with him. The boy was shameless enough to lock the two of you in the bathroom upon first meeting, so there was no telling what else he was capable of.

“—and he told me that you’re a really good writer.”

Oh. _Oh._

“W-what? Was… Was I wrong? Your face just turned a couple shades paler.”

That would be because his latest story was about _you_. “No, I just… I’m not that good, my writing isn’t that good—”

“Oh, please. I’m sure you’re not giving yourself enough credit for it.”

Jihoon halted at the sincerity in your tone. He didn’t know why it shook him so much, to hear nice words about an art form of his that you probably haven’t actually seen yet. It shouldn’t have really mattered. How could someone say a song should be good if they hadn’t heard it yet? How could someone say a television show was funny if they hadn’t even seen it yet?

The worst case was that your words were nothing but lip service—but Jihoon couldn’t buy into that. You looked sincere, sounded it too. It was more than a compliment, it was something like faith that he _did_ do well. Jihoon had never searched for validation for his work but somehow he wanted to hear something from you.

For the most part, Jihoon preferred to keep his writing to himself, but you were slowly becoming the only exception.

“I could… show you… sometime. You know, if you want. My writing, I mean. That’s okay if you don’t. It’s just… It’s pretty mediocre really–”

“I’d love to, Jihoon,” and the smile you gave was what nailed the coffin shut.

Much later, following disjointed conversations, an extra cup of coffee each, and the accidental knocking of knees, you checked your wristwatch to find you were late for a group project meeting. Jihoon watched as you hurried out. You looked back at him twice to give small waves and exchange sweet smiles.

As soon as you were out of sight, Jihoon took out the small leather bound journal from his back pocket and scribbled in some more notes; inspiration flooded him with the force of a tsunami.

* * *

_“Halfway into December and we’ve got final exams coming up next week. We all know what that means…”_

_“Energy drinks and no sleep???”_

_“No, Seokmin. I mean yes, that’s true, but also that means winter break is just an arms length away!”_

_“Woohoo! Winter break! I can smell the holiday spirit and my mom’s disappointment when she sees my grades already.”_

_“Ha! That makes the two of us!”_

_“Alright, alright, Seungkwan. It’s the last week of classes, do we have any solid advice for our non-existent listeners?”_

_“Yes, we do. Please pay_ close _attention. This is based on a true story so you have to believe me. When the dining hall offers seconds—which they usually don’t!—be very, very,_ very _suspicious.”_

Silence.

_“I meant tips for studying, Seungkwan.”_

_“Oh! Well… The library will be open 24 hours this entire week. So if you’re camping in, the fourth floor between the geography books shelves is the best place to cry in misery.”_

_“Okay then! Good luck on cramming the entire semester into this week!”_

_“Well, this is it for Seungkwan’s—”_

_”—and Seokmin’s podcast. We’ll be back when the semester starts again in January so until then, we’ll be hibernating throughout the break!”_

You tuned out your radio just in time, your laces already knotted and your hands gripping the straps of your backpack. It was the last Monday morning of the semester; the last time you’d get to sit out on Front Lawn waiting for your 9 a.m. class. You double checked your things, made sure your keys were in your pocket and your room was tidy. The mattress was slightly elevated on one corner and you thought about the increasing pile of unopened letters under there, but shook away any curiosity of what was written in them.

The walk to Front Lawn was spent in absent-minded wondering. Thoughts launched themselves against your skull from all sorts of directions; exams, your family, studying, and Jihoon. You bit the insides of your cheek at the thought of his name. Just his name, nothing else. You had never replayed a conversation as often as you did with him. You remembered the way his eyes wandered back and forth between the glass window and you. You remembered the way his fingers fiddled with each other when he waited for your responses. You remembered the tug of his lips when he smiled with the same shyness you had.

Lee Jihoon had made himself at home in your mind. He crept in without warning and you welcomed his overstaying.

When you took your designated spot on the bench, a place that should have your name carved into the wood because you were always there at the same time and same place, you pulled your scarf up to cover your nose and lips.

Winter was at its mightiest but your fingers were snug in your knitted gloves as they grasped the corners of your hard cover book.

* * *

“‘A Brief History of Time’?”

Your eyes shot up with a startled jump and panic surged through Jihoon like no other. He should’ve approached you more carefully. He should’ve called your name from afar or probably said hello first. Surely, he shouldn’t have scared the living daylights out of you.

“S-sorry! I didn’t… I didn’t mean to scare you.” With the attempt to act natural, Jihoon took a seat next to you.

He came to the conclusion that you really were crazy—for sitting here at this time, this place, this way, every week. Although, maybe he was _just_ as crazy for getting up that much earlier so he could confirm his little theory.

And when he arrived, slightly breathless because he wanted to spare some time for you before the 8 a.m. class started, the butterflies fluttered like wild.

“That’s okay, don’t worry about it. I just… I never usually see anyone I know at this time.”

Jihoon nodded. “You have a class soon?”

“At 9, actually. And you?”

“In ten minutes,” he said, with a glance to the clock tower. What he didn’t say, was that he didn’t mind skipping the class altogether just to keep you company.

The silence that blanketed the rest of those ten minutes felt like a timer about to go off. It was nerve-racking in the way that he begged the minute hand to stop. You had put your book down in favour of his presence. Your knees slightly bent in his direction and it was just the two of you again. He wondered if these thoughts crowded your mind as it did for his.

“You ever heard of it?” You then asked, just seconds before the hour hand struck eight and the clock tower bells rang, echoing through the air. You held up the book to show him the cover and Jihoon glanced at it, the title sounding somewhat familiar but nothing he would have ever read.

“Stephen Hawking,” he read. He knew that guy at least.

“It’s… uh, well. You don’t have to be a physics major to read this. But um… yeah, I guess if you like reading, this one’s really interesting. I mean, if you like space and all that… Well I do, so…”

“What’s it about?”

You pursed your lips at the question and Jihoon watched as the gears started to turn. “Time, the big bang theory, black holes. How the universe was created, how it’s expanding—”

“And how it’ll die?” Jihoon finished, connecting the dots in an instant and realising the guest voice on the podcast had been _you_. Of course, it was.

Jihoon had never really been one to dwell on the idea of fate or destiny. Of course, idealism was more attractive to him than Jeonghan’s realism. Fate was a complex but stimulating concept to write so he wasn’t all that foreign to the idea. He enjoyed writing about it though. Those stories let him live a thousand lives and feel a million emotions he hadn’t even felt himself yet, but that was all they were to him. He contemplated fate for his characters but could never bring himself to think about the workings of fate in his own life. It was a grey area he would never admit he was still afraid of treading.

You genuinely looked surprised to hear it from him. “Actually… yeah. If… you know, if we know how the universe started, how it’s growing… Theoretically, we can know how it dies too.”

There it was again. Jihoon could feel you holding back. The walls were too high and Jihoon wanted nothing more than to obliterate the boundaries and let you share with him every single detail that would light the fire in your eyes.

Now he knew how to answer Wonwoo’s question.

“Does everything really have to die? Do we all just… disappear and collapse into nothing?” Jihoon looked at the clock again; six minutes past eight. “What’s the point then?”

“What do you mean?”

“If everything is going to be destroyed anyway… If all that we’ve built, all that we’ve learned and all that we’ve become, turns to dust… then what’s the point of doing anything?”

Then you smiled at him, your eyes glazed over his curious expression. Again, a look that spoke a million things at once, like all the answers were right on the tip of your tongue but you actively chose not to share them with him.

“A bit early for an existential crisis, isn’t it?”

Jihoon let out a breathy laugh, shyly turned away from your gaze.

“I mean, I don’t know if anyone’s figured _that_ out.” You put the book down beside you, tucked your hands under your thighs. “I guess to me, knowing how insignificant our existences are, how there are these _massive_ celestial bodies that are so much more beyond us… I feel small but I feel like I have so much control, you know? That’s… I know, that’s contradictory… I just…”

Jihoon felt every word you said in his bones and suddenly he wanted to kiss you. He just _really_ wanted to kiss you. He didn’t know why. He had never felt this way ever and he was freaking out.

“It’s like, you have stars exploding somewhere on the other side of the universe, and here I am feeling stressed about an exam next week. Or, an asteroid is getting sucked into the pull of a black hole, unable to escape its doom, and I’m here complaining that my mother don’t listen.”

The fog escaped with your exhale and you swallowed as though you’ve said too much.

Jihoon slipped his hands into the pockets of his jeans. He needed to let you know that you could say whatever you wanted. That he wanted to hear whatever you wanted to say.

“I’m not making any sense,” you muttered. “It’s just… If all those great things are happening in the universe, and that maybe I don’t matter at all… I might as well be something great too? I might as well, I don’t know, I might as well try to be happy or help others or, make something of myself.”

You looked down at your hands.

Jihoon gripped the strap of his bag and slung it onto his shoulder before getting up. “No, I know exactly what you mean,” he finally settled and the expression you looked up at him with ignited a warmth that spread from his chest, up to his face, and throughout his body. Winter itself was no match for it.

“I really want to stay and talk about this but um… Class has started and we’ve got this huge assignment but… Can I see you again? Later? Or whenever—if you’re studying, or after exams?”

“Y-yeah, of course.”

“Okay… Cool. Okay.” Jihoon stepped backwards, backing away from you. “I’ll see you then.”

You smiled, amused perhaps. “See you.”

* * *

You didn’t know what just happened. You didn’t know why you suddenly decided to share your shower thoughts. You didn’t know why Jihoon’s expression was so bashful. You didn’t know why you almost choked at your response as Jihoon was leaving.

But there was no time to process any of it because, not long after, your solitude was interrupted by someone else.

“ _Hello_!”

This time, you jumped in shock. There was only so much you could take this early in the week. Your hand flew to your chest to calm your racing heart and you turned in bewilderment, confused to find Jeonghan poking his head out from behind a tree, peering at you with a sly smirk. You were the embodiment of a deer caught in the headlights and yet you hadn’t done anything wrong.

“J-jeonghan?”

“Y-y-yes? Why do you sound so scared? I’m not gonna bite.”

You could only blink as he made his way over. “Oh my God… Were you spying on us?”

He let out a hearty laugh at your accusation. “Bingo!” Jeonghan waddled towards you, bundled in layers and layers of mismatched jackets, as though he jumped right out of bed and threw on all the clothing articles he’s ever owned. “Listen, I haven’t slept. _At all_. I pulled an all-nighter just because I hadn’t finished this one lab report that was supposedly due two weeks ago—Don’t worry, it’s fine. The professor loves me.”

Jeonghan kicked a pebble out of the way before sitting beside you. “Anyway, I’ve been awake all night and suddenly it’s morning and I hear an alarm clock ring, right? See, _our_ alarm clock doesn’t work. So, I’m watching and Jihoon actually got up, turned off the alarm clock and started to get ready.”

Your blank face urged him to go on.

“Jihoon actually got up early for his 8 a.m.—for the first time in this entire semester, mind you.” Jeonghan was babbling a mile a minute. “I’m saying, he somehow got the alarm clock to _work_ , tuned into Seungkwan and Seokmin’s podcast and left at a time that could let him walk to class because he wasn’t late. For once.”

You cocked your head to the side, still unable to figure out what he was getting at.

“So you’d think he’d be taking his sweet time to get to class, right? But I go after him, because he forgot his little leather journal, and guess what? The guy’s sprinting. Sprinting for what?”

Jeonghan paused, looking at you inquisitively like he was telling you to fill in the blanks. But he filled them in himself when you maintained your quiet.

“Sprinting for _you_.”

When he said it like that, your entire face was lit on fire and Jeonghan just knew, laughing out loud at the way you flustered without having anything to say.

“Jihoon’s too shy to ask me to be his wingman, but I know that he wants me to be his wingman. So, let me make this easier for all of us; Jihoon has this big, giant crush on you and he doesn’t know how to deal with it.”

You were convinced this entire conversation was a hallucination of your own imagination.

“Please go easy on the shy boy. He’s a big sucker for writing love stories but he actually,” Jeonghan’s pupils scanned the empty area, as though someone might overhear. “Hasn’t ever dated anyone.”

Before you could respond, before you could ask Jeonghan what exactly he meant or what he was implying, he briskly got up with a jump. “Well! I actually haven’t finished that lab report, I should probably get back to it. What you want to do with this information is up to you. I mean, you’re probably as shy as Jihoon is, so if I didn’t say anything now, you’ll both just be pining after each other for years before someone makes a move.”

You don’t think you had ever been called out so blatantly before. Did Jeonghan think you have a crush on Jihoon? _Did_ you have a crush on Jihoon?

“Wait, I don’t—”

Jeonghan took off without warning, an excited bounce in his steps and disappearing altogether.

* * *

Jihoon walked back into his dorm to find Soonyoung over the edge of the top bunk and Wonwoo comfortably lying on the carpeted floor. Jeonghan was passed out on Jihoon’s bed.

“What are you guys doing here?” In nonchalance, Jihoon threw his bag onto the floor, shrugged off his thick coat and pulled out the chair at his study desk.

“Oh, nothing,” Soonyoung had on a dumb, lopsided smile spread across his face.

Wonwoo hummed along, sporting the same look on his own face without breaking his direct gaze up at Jihoon.

Jihoon blinked. “Why are you both looking at me like that?”

Soonyoung clearly couldn’t hold back anymore. The boy jumped off the bunk, almost landing on Wonwoo’s leg. He threw his arms up in the air and grinned so wide, Jihoon felt he had never seen Soonyoung this happy.

“LEE JIHOON! IS! IN! _LOVE_!” He dragged on the word ‘love’ for as long as his lungs would allow him, effectively waking a groggy Jeonghan in the process and causing Jihoon to involuntarily blush.

“What are you talking—” But before Jihoon could finish, Wonwoo was quicker to point out the intense shade of red Jihoon’s skin was morphing into.

Both Soonyoung and Jeonghan erupt into hearty giggles and Jihoon could not do anything to stop them.

* * *

“Rapidfire!” Seokmin cried, as he ran towards you sitting in the common room.

At his voice, you quickly sat up to give him your full undivided attention like this was a military drill. “ _What_?!”

“How many exams do you have left?” He hurriedly took a seat right beside you with one leg up, hugging his knee to his chest as his eyes excitedly probed your off-guarded expression for an answer.

“One!”

“When?!” He yelled again, eyes widening at how long you were taking to form your answer.

“Um—”

“Quick! Answer!”

You were almost scared at how demanding Seokmin was being. “T-tomorrow! You’re making me nervous for no reason, Seok!”

“What are you doing on new years?”

“Huh?”

“New years! Plans! Have any?!”

“N-no, I don’t think—”

“Okay! You have plans now. Me, Seungkwan and a bunch of other guys are going to watch fireworks from the observatory in the physics building.”

“The physics building? Isn’t that area restricted?”

“Jeonghan’s coming.”

“Right.” _Of course_ it made sense that Jeonghan would somehow have access to the physics building’s restricted area.

* * *

Soonyoung stifled a yawn, lazily leaning his forehead against the wall as Jihoon busily pressed the buttons on the printer in the common room.

“I don’t know how anyone figures out how to use this. I don’t even know how to use the World Wide Web.”

“That’s just you,” Jihoon dismissed.

Both of them stared blankly at the machine, listened to the way it hummed, carefully producing the first page, then the second, then the third. Jihoon had actually asked Soonyoung if he wanted to go and get a midnight snack at the 24-hour mini-mart but because every single student’s brains go haywire by the end of the semester, Jihoon completely forgot about having to print his final assignment for his writing class.

Soonyoung sighed aloud again. He pushed himself off of the wall and reached out to pick a random sheet from the papers being printed before Jihoon could stop him. Soonyoung exaggeratedly cleared his voice.

“A thousand thoughts encircled her mind in chaos, but she stood steady in the eye, commanding calm for her violent surroundings—”

“That’s not yours.” Jihoon snatched the sheet from Soonyoung’s grasp, the tips of his ears threatening to redden again had Soonyoung read more of the story out loud.

“Is this about… _you-know-who_?” Soonyoung’s voice raised a couple pitches and Jihoon didn’t have to look at him to know he was wriggling his brows.

Usually, Jihoon never felt any real obligation to respond to the way Soonyoung teased. It wasn’t anything personal really. He knew when Soonyoung was being serious and when he wasn’t, which arguably was most of the time. But right then, Jihoon knew full and well that Soonyoung was at his maximum capacity to make fun of him.

And even though he knew that, he started to talk about you anyway.

Jihoon scanned through the other printed papers, as more were being printed, looking for a specific page to show Soonyoung. When he found it, he pointed at a paragraph, drawing Soonyoung’s attention to see where Jihoon first referred to you as the girl in the blue scarf.

And with the way Jihoon went on to explain how your character had walls of iron, how you shut yourself off from everyone else, how your thoughts reflected more than what you said or did, Soonyoung was eventually warped into the story altogether.

Off-handedly, Jihoon then explained the conflict even without Soonyoung asking. The male lead comes into the picture with a bold, supposedly noble cause that propelled the story forward; to save the girl. To this boy, the girl was trapped by the boundaries of her own mind and that she needed someone to liberate her from it.

Soonyoung frowned at the idea, and Jihoon was pleased with the questioning reaction. It was exactly what he wanted to elicit from his readers.

But contrary to the norm, the story did not become a tale about a boy saving a girl. In the futile attempts that the boy does reach out to get closer to her, twisting his own idea of security and comfort by painting himself as her knight in shining armour, he would find in the end that eventually, it was _she_ who had saved him. The grand conclusion of it all, something Jihoon was extremely happy with.

Soonyoung took a seat as Jihoon concluded, like the weight of the message was too heavy to stand through.

“You must be some kind of genius, Jihoon.” Soonyoung buried his head in his hands then rubbed his temples to process the plot even more.

Jihoon only laughed at his friend’s baffled state. He was proud of this story actually. It was the one time that he put together something so spontaneously written and yet so intricately told. He didn’t know if the character based on you was what propelled this carefulness.

But again, many times since after finishing the story, he pondered. If the female lead was based on you, did his subconscious somehow embed himself into the male lead? Even though he never had even so much as an inkling to be your knight in shining armour, was this still his underlying understanding of what romance was?

* * *

This time around, the message came in the form of a postcard and there was no brown envelope to protect you from reading its contents.

What was meant to be an afternoon of absolute freedom, having just finished your last exam in the morning, all thoughts of calm or serenity were nowhere to be found when the emotion within you bubbled so angrily, paralleled to the insides of an erupting volcano. You barely ever felt like this, feeling so upset that not even Seokmin quietly knocking on your door could settle you down enough to greet him.

You stared at the postcard on the table. Your arms crossed and your forehead throbbing with stress even more intense than the ones you had solving your physics exercises.

With pursed lips you got up and turned towards your mattress. With one hand, you lifted the corner slightly so you could use your other to pull out the stack of unopened letters you had been stashing there.

Each one, you ripped open, finally. The exact same stamp crookedly pasted on the top right corner. The handwriting written in the same, neat cursive font. Your mother had always been so meticulous in her writing, always so articulate in choosing her words. And you suppose there’s something to admire about that when you’ve come to appreciate the writing of someone else.

But you also know how often your mother sugarcoats her statements, masking her words as though you wouldn’t notice any hint of ugliness that lay underneath.

The letters became more passive aggressive as recent as they got. In the last one, before the postcard was sent, you read the small note at the very bottom.

_‘P.S. I am assuming that since you haven’t responded, you might not even be opening these letters at all. I will be sending a postcard next week. Please think about what’s being said, my dear. You know I only want what’s best for you.’_

You heard her voice in your head too clearly. You’ve had this conversation with her over and over. Reliving the nightmare that was the weeks leading up to you moving away for university.

It was exhausting.

All the letters spoke of only _two_ important things. Maybe the two back-to-back pages often strayed or included overly detailed descriptions of what you missed out on at home, but you knew your mother. All you had to do was look for what she was asking of you, it was always buried somewhere there, but obvious enough if you knew where to look.

First, she described her disapproval of you studying astrophysics again—or, more accurately, her disapproval of you getting a university education altogether. You wanted to give her the benefit of the doubt, but there was nothing in her attitude that could convince you she had a good reason for it.

Second on her agenda, related to the first, was an arranged marriage with Wen Junhui.

As far as you were concerned, your mother wanted to impose this idea that education didn’t matter as long as you had a wealthy husband. And how were you supposed to explain how you felt about that in a written letter if she didn’t even listen to you in person?

You crumpled the piece of paper in your hand, the older letters, and threw them to the corner of your room and missed the bin.

* * *

Jihoon had been meaning to see you again, as he promised, as he planned to. But each time he was about to make his way to your college, or attempt to call you, or try and ask about you to Seokmin, something would stop him. Be it a distraction or his nerves getting the best of him, Jihoon just found it difficult to make the move.

So when Jeonghan told him that you’d be there tonight, watching the New Years fireworks up in the observatory of the physics building, it took twice the effort for Jihoon to suppress the giddiness that blossomed in his chest.

It was the one time he didn’t mind having to go out.

Had Jihoon been as level-headed as he usually was, he would’ve immediately been able to suspect Jeonghan’s ulterior motives. But because the butterflies have invaded his mind and all he could think of was you, nothing felt the slightest bit off.

* * *

It was 11 p.m. on New Years Eve and you stood in the dining hall, absentmindedly stirring your hot chocolate. The entire hall is void of students, everyone had either gone back to their families or were probably out in celebration. _Celebration_ …

You heard someone call your name from the far end of the dining hall. You turned around to squint at the figure who was jumping up and flailing his arms and you let your guard down knowing it was Seungkwan.

“What are you doing here?” He yelled, sort of. He skipped towards you cheerily, an unremovable smile on his face, until his eyes sized you up and down there on the spot. “Did you just wake up or something?”

You looked down to see what you were wearing for the first time that day. Nothing acceptable to be going out with, really. But you dressed warm enough to roam the halls of the dining hall, and it wasn’t as though you needed to go out…

“D-Didn’t Seokmin… Weren’t you gonna go for the fireworks?” Seungkwan stuttered his words and your eyes narrowed in on him because there was only one reason why Seungkwan would ever start stuttering.

But the realisation that you forgot about the fireworks settled first and you felt somewhat relieved that you finally remembered the one thing you felt that you had forgotten all day. You didn’t even remember Seungkwan was meant to go to that too instead of loiter about a dining hall of a college that wasn’t even his.

“Ah,” you sighed. You didn’t feel up for it anymore. The postcard began to grow heavier in the pocket of your hoodie, drawing attention to itself as a subject your thoughts haven’t been able to evade since you read it. “Rain-check?”

Then Seungkwan laughed nervously, a forced sound that only confirmed something really _was_ up. “Okay, long story short, don’t tell anyone I actually told you but…”

Your gut feeling went ballistic.

“I assume Seokmin said other people were coming? By other people, we meant only Jihoon.”

You were glad you had drunk all your hot chocolate early on in the conversation.

“And Seokmin and I… actually aren’t coming.” He added.

You pursed your lips, felt your heart drumming in your ear.

“And he’s there. Now. By himself. I don’t know if Jeonghan told him you were coming but…”

However Seungkwan was going to finish his sentence, you didn’t know, because right then and there, you took off. You sprinted back up to the dorms to quickly switch from your slippers to your sneakers. You quickly wrapped whatever scarf was within reach. You grabbed your keys, stuffed them into your pocket, and forgot about the postcard that remained there.

And then you ran.

* * *

Jihoon only realised what was happening a little too late.

He climbed up the emergency stairs of the physics building, a building he had never previously been before, followed the instructions Jeonghan gave him like his life depended on them. Jihoon was entirely convinced that he was heading to the place first only because Jeonghan needed to go and get more snacks or take care of something else.

The keys to the observatory, that Jeonghan was somehow able to get his hands on, jingled loudly against each other in the silence of his surroundings. The way his lone footsteps echoed scared him more than he wanted to admit, so he started running up, leaping over the steps in twos.

The first thing Jihoon noticed, upon walking into the observatory, was the massive, opaque dome in place of a ceiling. Because the room was bitterly cold, Jihoon figured the structure was made of something that wasn’t very good at insulating heat from inside. When he couldn’t find the rooms light switch—if it had any—Jihoon walked over to one of the desks closest to him and switched on the lamp that sat on it. Only the small area around this desk was illuminated.

Jihoon looked up and began to observe his surroundings. Graphs and charts were pinned up on the walls messily, nothing really parallel or perpendicular to each other. It was like these charts were posted up in a hurry, overlapping one another, some corners carelessly flopping downwards.

Jihoon took his time walking around the room, eyeing the walls of the observatory as it was a world he had never been a part of before. He supposed it was the same feeling someone who didn’t like to read would have when they walk through the rows of shelves of a library.

At the other end of the room, there was a desk that piqued his curiosity. It appeared to be the most out of place in the room. When he inched closer, on it he saw a folded blanket, a plugged-in radio player, a basket full of cheap snacks from the minimart, and a folded piece of paper with Jihoon’s name on it.

_‘Don’t screw this up. -Jeonghan’_

* * *

You burst in through the door with a loudness that wasn’t typical of you. Jihoon’s head perked up from where he sat at the desk farthest from the door, sitting in a very dimly lit area. His wide eyes met yours, lips slightly agape. You had to lean against the opened door on your arm, catching your breath after the longest run you’ve ever gone on.

“Hi,” you squeaked.

At any other time, you might’ve been more embarrassed about the fact that you were so out of breath, so out of shape, panting and gasping for air. But Jihoon was waiting for you and that was the only thing you had on your mind.

_“We don’t get paid by anyone to do this. So, if we want to hold a podcast because we feel like it, then we’ll hold a podcast because we feel like it!”_

_“Exactly, Seungkwan. Now, we have a special guest today. A charming, handsome man, if I say so myself. Let’s welcome in Mr Kwon Soonyoung on this fine night!”_

You walked towards Jihoon as he lowered the volume of the radio.

_“Soons… Say something!”_

“Hi,” he told you, his gaze briefly meeting yours when you got closer. But the look didn’t last long because he turned away shyly, busied himself with the radio again, trying to adjust its volume so that it wouldn’t be dead quiet either. Was he really here waiting for you?

_“It’s a radio show, Soons. They can’t see you, you have to say something.”_

_“Oh, okay. Hello.”_

You looked around the room, eyed the telescope that stood dead-centre. You’ve only been to the observatory once, that time being an errand you had to run for a professor. But you knew the ins and outs of the observatory anyway. One day you wanted this to be your workplace, a second home, something to dedicate your whole heart to.

“Did you know you can open this up?” You asked, staring up at the dome.

Jihoon shook his head and you only noticed the way he got up from the corner of your eye. You went back to the control panel by the door. With a little bit of guessing and crossing your fingers, you pressed a couple buttons, flipped a switch, then turned the key.

Immediately, a loud whirring noise came to life as a section of the dome began to move. You watched in awe as a panel of the dome opened up to let you see straight up at the night sky. The winter winds immediately rushed in and you squinted at the sudden dip in temperature.

_“5 more minutes until midnight everyone, until the New Year!”_

You felt something soft nudge you in your side and when you turned, Jihoon was trying to hand you a fluffy blanket while his face, his lips, his eyes and nose, all looked up at the opening to the sky.

“If you get cold,” he said, as though your lack of response meant you needed an explanation.

 _“We hope any_ lovebirds _tuning in are staying warm on this cold night.”_

You had just arrived after running all the way from the college. You didn’t feel particularly cold yet but you noticed the way Jihoon’s lips quivered, slightly. Even though he looked bundled up and warm in his thick coat, he must’ve been cold having waited here. “What about you?”

He shrugged at your question like it didn’t matter. “There’s only one. I’ll be fine.” You took the blanket from him then hugged it close to your chest, able to tell that he’s held it long enough for his scent to linger.

_“What about your New Year’s resolutions, Seokmin? Anything you want to share in the last minutes of ‘95?”_

Jihoon went and hopped onto one of the desks near the telescope, gently dangling his legs over the side as his eyes remained glued up at the night sky. You joined him, taking it one step further as you laid back on the hard surface so you didn’t have to crane your neck looking up all the time. Jihoon followed suit.

And it didn’t really hit you, that you were lying here on the desks of the observatory with Lee Jihoon. You realised you had been alone with him several times before and yet you still felt the innocence of a school girl having a crush for the first time. You didn’t know what Jeonghan was expecting when he locked the two of you in the bathroom for seven minutes in heaven and you also didn’t know what he expected by bringing the two of you up here alone.

Jihoon hasn’t said anything to address the entire situation. He didn’t apologise for his friends having set you up, this time—like you thought he might. He hasn’t told you he has a crush on you as Jeonghan had claimed. He didn’t even ask how you’d been or even said he was glad to see you when you came in.

_“ONE MORE MINUTE EVERYBODY!”_

You turned your head away from the sky to face Jihoon and it almost petrified you how the side of his profile looked so much more wondrous than the sky with its twinkling constellations you could easily spot and name.

“Jihoon?”

He turned his head to face you, briefly startled to find that you were already looking right back at him. But he doesn’t look away this time. His pupils didn’t dart away nervously and he held your gaze with a strength that overpowered the captivation of any fireworks show. He hummed as if to say ‘yes?’ and his eyes softened with every blink.

“I really like you,” you mumbled, the confession being an awkward statement like the words were hesitant about leaving your throat.

“C-can I kiss you?” He said and you thought there was something so old school in the way he asked your permission beforehand—as though you would have any capability of saying no to him.

_“10! 9! 8!”_

You didn’t expect that question out of him. You didn’t really expect anything in the first place. Your response was a mere nod because you couldn’t form the words that wanted to agree with him a thousand times over.

_“7! 6! 5!”_

Jihoon reached out a finger under your chin, the pad of his finger feeling familiar as though he’s touched you so briefly like that before. Nervous, he leaned into you, his movement stiff and hesitant. He pecked you on the lips first, as a second form of permission. But before he could let go of your chin, before he could let the cold air rush between your faces again, you placed a hand on his cheek to encourage closeness.

_“4! 3! 2!”_

The contact of your cold palms against his heated face clashed and set fire to your veins, leading all the way up to your beating heart. You needed to kiss him for the second time, ready to feel the fireworks instead of watching them from up above. But when you moved in, when neither of you really calculated how the other was going to move, Jihoon inched closer to you too and you both end up hitting your noses against each other.

“Ow,” he laughed, moving to sit up straight.

You were absolutely mortified that something so awkward took place but just when you sat up and wanted to apologise for ruining the moment, Jihoon let out the most heartfelt laugh you had ever heard. You saw it in the way his eyes scrunched up and how the sound came from deep within. You giggled then too, letting this fondness for his laugh replace the initial embarrassment.

_“1! HAPPY NEW YEARS!”_

“Should we try that—” You started to say, but Jihoon was already one step ahead, pulling you into a kiss that would put supernovas to shame.

* * *

_“We’re one week into January of 1996. How are we feeling today, Seokmin?”_

_“Fresh! Starting anew! Rebirth! I feel like_ this _would be the year I will achieve all that I’ve ever wanted.”_

_“Any New Years resolutions you’d like to share with our listeners, then?”_

_“No, I don’t believe in resolutions. We should be trying to be better people every day.”_

_“As expected.”_

Seokmin’s room felt extra cramped since today’s radio broadcast had somewhat of an audience. Watching the broadcast take place live had a different feel from how you were used to listening to their voices in the comfort of your room. You could tell the novel audience had them both on edge, careful with their jokes and a little bit more restrained with their laughter.

Both Seungkwan and Seokmin were hunched over by the desk, huddled around their recording equipment. Jeonghan reposed on the unmade bed without a care whereas you sat cross-legged on its edge. Jihoon stood by the door, leaned against the wall with a fond smile on his face as Seungkwan cracked a joke that triggered a chuckle from Seokmin.

It didn’t take long for Jihoon to feel you staring. He glanced in your direction, caught your eyes in an awestruck gaze but you’ve been a little more brave these days, not shying away from him. In a few seconds, one of you would crack a smile and, as it usually unfolds, the other would have no choice but to look away before the heat in your face flares.

But Jihoon cocked his head slightly to the right as he questioned you, with his eyes, if you’d step out with him.

You pushed yourself off of the bed, tip-toed towards Seungkwan and Seokmin, tapping them both on the shoulder as a form of ‘see you later.’ With Jihoon, you both quietly snuck out, carefully shutting the door so as not to disturb the broadcast.

* * *

Jihoon stayed back after his lecture when the professor requested him to beforehand. As he packed his things, his mind did a quick run-through of all the possible reasons this professor would ask of him in only the first week of the term.

Though he wasn’t quite prepared for what it actually was.

“Jihoon, about your story from last term’s creative writing class,” the professor held the very document in his hands, eyes skimming through its thick pages. Jihoon received a stellar grade for it, endless praises in the comments about the plot’s development and the richness of his characters. “I want to discuss the possibility of getting your work published. That is, of course, if that is something you’d consider?”

He was speechless. _Of course_ , he’d thought about getting published but the dream always seemed to be at a distance. Jihoon felt that he was still in the intricate process of honing his writing style, felt like it wasn’t polished enough to consider letting the world see it.

“Um,” he mumbled. “Y-yeah, that’s… I’m definitely considering.”

“Brilliant!” The professor beamed at him. “I have a contact from a well-known publishing house that would love to meet you. Maybe we could all get some coffee some time?”

* * *

The earlier hours of the morning have become a time reserved for you and Jihoon. A light fog still seeped through college crescent. You’ve offered many times to circle the park closer to Jihoon’s place but he refused. A jogger ran past with his dog running alongside him and you heard the soft ring of a bicycle up ahead, coming from the nearest main road.

Pride filled your soul when Jihoon recounted what his professor told him. You weren’t surprised by it at all, especially after the short excerpts he’d been showing you and the prose pieces he shared, you figured he deserved nothing less. His words were meant to be out in the world like that; they were too precious to be harboured in university assignments and Jihoon’s pocketed leather journal.

“You’re the first person I told,” he added, and you thought he purposely did this only to render you a giddy mess.

Jihoon was wrapped up in his usual padded jacket and you tightened the thick shawl around your shoulders with your free hand. The other was kept warm, intertwined with Jihoon’s and safe in his pocket.

“And are you ever going to show me which story this was?”

Jihoon pursed his lips, avoided your prodding. “I’ve shown you a few bits and pieces of it.”

“ _Bits and pieces_ ,” you mused. “Why so shy? Is it about me?”

You meant it as a complete joke—because why on earth would anyone want to write about someone like you—but Jihoon stopped in his tracks, eyes wide like you’ve caught him red-handed. When the giggle you meant to elicit didn’t come, you realised you must’ve hit the nail on the head.

With your head cocked to the side, “it _is_?”

His eyes sheepishly averted to the ground and you couldn’t help but reach your cold palm to his cheek and redirect his face back to you.

“I don’t mind if it is.”

He instinctively leaned further into your hand despite the chilly touch. “It’s more like, a character is based on you.”

You decided not to push further if he wasn’t yet ready to explain the premise of it all. “Well, I just hope it’s the protagonist and not a minor character.”

With a squeeze to your laced hands, you gently tugged him forward to go on walking. Neither of you had a destination in mind, you never really had one for these walks; it was what you loved most about them.

Jihoon began talking about the professor he had for an elective he instantly regretted choosing. He went off on multiple tangents, telling you about the unorganised readings and the one girl who sat upfront all the time and immediately shot her hand into the air before the professor even finished reading out the question. You laughed at his predicament and also told him about the one, unfortunate, seatmate in your advanced maths class, who wouldn’t stop sneezing beside you.

* * *

You found Wen Junhui sitting in the dining hall of your college one Friday night, brewing a storm of a conversation with Seungkwan—much to your confusion. You hadn’t seen Jun since you left home a year ago. You approached unprepared, eager to just find out why he exactly he was there.

“Jun?” You called from behind.

Jun spun around in his seat, a wide grin instantly overtaking his face when he sees you. “Well, well. You look like you’ve aged a little.”

An incredulous scoff left your lips as you held your fist up, in an empty threat of a punch; the usual banter.

Jun didn’t hesitate in the slightest when he sprung up and threw his arms around you, the hug so tight you thought he could actually crush your ribs. Knowing only how to reciprocate—and perhaps detecting a whiff of home around him—you wounded your arms around his body too, your feet slightly lifting into the air as he spun you in circles.

“What are you doing here?” You said, once he let go. You glanced at Seungkwan, who was now standing too and witnessing this reunion. “And… How do you know Seungkwan?”

Jun’s eyes darted back and forth between you and Seungkwan. “I, uh—I just met Seungkwan actually, at the front gates of your college. I couldn’t get in cause, um… Yeah, I don’t have a key. I just thought I’d come visit you for the weekend!”

Seungkwan chimed in, “your friend here is hilarious. I thought he was some sort of stray star singer because he was singing these Christmas carols outside our residence. And not quietly, mind you, he was doing a little dance as well.”

You laughed out loud at that, habitually slapping Jun gently in the arm. It was _just_ like him to do that.

Seungkwan then tiptoed and glanced at someone behind you. “Oh! Jihoon! You’re here too?”

You turned on your heel lightning quick to find Jihoon awkwardly standing behind. Guilt washed over you when you realised you had completely forgotten he trailed in with you after you invited him inside for some hot chocolate.

So, you trotted towards him, pulled him lightly by the elbow towards Jun. “Jihoon, this is Jun, one of my closest childhood friends.”

Jun kindly stuck his palm out and briskly shook Jihoon’s hand.

The very sight of the two meeting made your head spin, just thinking about all the ways their personalities might clash. Not that there was anything inherently wrong with either of their personalities, only that Jun sometimes, was a lot to process. It was only growing up with him that you’ve been able to tolerate most of his antics.

You turned to Jun. “Are you staying nearby?”

He nodded, “my cousin’s place is a stop away by bus. I’ve got plans tonight but, can we hang tomorrow?”

Without hesitation, you agreed.

Once Jun left and Seungkwan excused himself to use the landline, Jihoon accompanied you to make those two mugs of hot chocolate you initially promised him. The drinks dispensers and coffee machine were situated right next to the kitchen in the pantry, which was only accessible through the dining hall.

Jihoon leaned against the counter there, watched you expertly measure out heaps of Milo onto the teaspoon. “Jun seems cool,” he said.

You smiled at that before opening up the fridge to grab the milk. “Hmm, he is. Our families go way back, so we kinda just grew up together.”

“He’s studying too?”

“Yeah, a third year medical student. He goes to a university in our hometown.”

Jihoon helped you return the milk carton back into the fridge as you placed the two mugs into the microwave. “How come _you_ didn’t go to a university in your hometown?”

You’ve practiced the answer to this question a million times over in your head, having recited it to all your relatives and family friends each time they wondered why you chose a place so distant from your family. Most times, you could detect the underlying judgment of those asking, as if they really mean to ask, _how could you leave your family like this?_

But coming from Jihoon, you knew he was just curious. And even so, you still settled for a small lie.

“The astrophysics program here is a lot more reputable than the one near home.” Despite the fact that it was true, that your university here had been named the number one institution for studies in the hard sciences, you hated to admit that that wasn’t the _main_ reason you decided to come here.

Distance was the better excuse, how many hours by plane would separate you from home.

Jihoon nodded as the microwaved beeped. You opened it up and took out the steaming hot mugs and handed one to Jihoon. You never had to lean in to get a whiff of the chocolate, but Jihoon drank up the steam in a short sniff.

“I can’t believe the best hot chocolate comes out of a microwave,” he muttered.

You hummed, “ _that’s_ the secret ingredient.”

* * *

Jeonghan swung the door to the dorm open and both he _and_ Jihoon startled at the way it slammed against the wall.

Someone down the hall—probably the RA—yelled, “ _JEONGHAN_!”

Jeonghan stuck his head out of the room and yelled back an insincere apology before slamming the door back shut. “Geez, they should really do something about how loose the hinges of these doors are,” he said beneath his breath.

Jihoon returned his attention to the notebook before him, striking a line through the last sentence he wrote.

“Already starting a new story?”

“No, just a writing exercise for class.”

Jeonghan hung his coat behind the door, kicked off his shoes and threw his weight onto the bed, sighing contentedly as he pulled the covers over himself. “You don’t have any plans this Saturday night? No date?”

Jihoon shook his head. “She’s out with a friend.”

“Oh? Seokmin didn’t mention anything… With Seungkwan, then?”

Another shake of his head. “Someone from her hometown.”

“Wen Junhui?”

Jihoon lifted his head and turned to his roommate, a quirked brow on his face.

“Seungkwan mentioned him before.” Jeonghan continued. “She and Jun seem… Close.”

A pause followed after Jeonghan’s observation and Jihoon found that the pen he held refused to touch the paper again. Something felt unsettling, all of a sudden. Jihoon blamed Jeonghan.

“Why the suspicion?”

Jeonghan scoffed, turned his body to settle into a much more comfortable napping position. “Why must you always assume the worst of me, Jihoon? I was just making an assumption.”

 _Of course you would be close to Jun_ , Jihoon thought. You had grown up with each other after all. But Jihoon had never been pegged as the jealous type. He trusted you.

Just when Jihoon was certain that Jeonghan had already gone back to sleep, he called out to him again. “How’d the meeting with the publishing house go, by the way?”

“Good, I think.” He hesitated before opening his mouth again. “But someone suggested making a few… _Tweaks_ as he worded it, to the protagonist.”

“That doesn’t sound very good.”

“Yeah, don’t worry about it. I won’t let anything happen to these characters.”

Jeonghan yawned, “yeah, there’s plenty of publishers that would take your story as it is. Don’t you dare settle.” Silence settled again, before Jeonghan opened his mouth again. “Do you think Jun calls her frequently?”

“Just go to sleep.”

* * *

Jun revealed the real reason he was in town as he walked you back to your dorm. You supposed you should’ve been grateful that he only told you after having a blast at the arcade, for old time’s sake.

Jun was an actual monster at the whack-a-mole game and you had to drag him out of the place before he began yelling at the claw crane for being rigged.

Instead of entering the college building through its main door, you settled for the smaller gates through the back, which led you to the gardens behind the building. You dropped your weight onto one of the benches and Jun took his place beside you, glancing in your direction every now and then as you processed everything he just said.

“Don’t get me wrong,” he began to say. “I’m not here _solely_ by your mother’s request. I did, genuinely, want to see how you are.”

“She wants to set us up for an arranged marriage,” you blurted.

Though Jun didn’t look very surprised, probably because your mother had always joked about it out loud with the neighbours and your far relatives, every single time you and Jun played together as children.

Admittedly, you wouldn’t deny having had a crush on Jun before, especially when he grew up to be so handsome that every girl in the neighbourhood expressed some sort of envy for you, just for the fact that you knew him. But your relationship with him extended beyond just _knowing_ him. You spent almost every waking moment together since you could crawl. You went to the same playgroup, the same kindergarten, the same elementary school. Despite being a year older, he always watched out for you, always protected you.

It was natural that you would develop some sort of affection for him, especially when his kindness always stretched so generously, offering to help your mother with the groceries and engaging in deep discussions with your father. He was the _perfect_ match.

But Jun also grew up into the man that his parents had always wanted him to be. You never recalled if he had actually expressed _wanting_ to study medicine, but it was something that his family had always embedded into him. Becoming a doctor was equivalent to becoming the pride of the family and _that_ was something you had always observed him striving for since he was young.

If you had to pinpoint a moment that your path with him slightly diverged, it would’ve been right there.

Jun sighed, “am I not good enough for you to marry?”

You laughed at that, nudged him in the rib with your elbow. “That’s not the reason at all, Jun. You’d be the perfect bachelor...”

He watched the way your eyes watched the night sky. “You’re seeing Jihoon, right?”

You turned to him in surprise, wondered how in the world he could’ve figured that out so quickly despite you never mentioning it.

Jun smiled, “why are you looking at me like that? You practically stared at him with stars in your eyes the other night.” He leaned back into the bench, let out a deep exhale. “He looked at you like that too, that’s for sure.”

Embarrassment settled on your face, like you cupped heat packs against your cheek. “Yeah, I… I really like him.”

“Good,” Jun nodded. “He looks like a good guy.”

“That’s… Not the reason though.”

Jun turned to you fully, pulling one leg onto the bench and letting his elbow lean onto the backrest. It was his way of telling you that he was all ears. “I know,” he said. “You want to study, right?”

Unexpectedly, tears began welling up in your eyes and you froze when one rolled down your cheek. You quickly wiped it with the sleeve of your sweater.

Despite knowing exactly what the problem at hand was, you had always kept it safe and tucked in your mind, where no one else knew and no one else could see. Saying it out loud had a different effect altogether. It sounded real. It _was_ real. That was what you truly wanted, what your heart yearned for and what you wanted your life to lead you to.

Having Jun say it for you, someone you could call a piece of home, someone who had probably grown up _knowing_ this about you, was too much for you to handle. You couldn’t suppress it anymore.

Jun pulled out a small packet of tissues and placed it gently onto your lap. “Do you want me to try and say something to her?”

It was a kind offer, but you refused, shaking your head furiously at the mere thought of anyone but you trying to get this point across to your mother. “I need to be the one to do that,” was all you said.

The time passed in the quiet and you were grateful that Jun didn’t make any attempt to fill the silences with smalltalk. But your mind was racing; Jun being sent here by your mother meant that she was beginning to take action. You wouldn’t be surprised if you found a plane ticket back to your hometown in your mail one of these days.

* * *

_“Hey, Seungkwan?”_

_“What?”_

_“Ever wondered what it’d be like to have a pen pal?”_

_“A pen pal?! Seok, you’re the only pal I’ve got.”_

_“‘Kwan, I’m gonna shed tears. If you’re all thinking about letter-writing pen pals, or fax pals, then you’re all living in the old ages. A free_ _Internet Mail service called HoTMaiL was just released this year and our school got its hands on the beta version.”_

 _“Wait, back up. Did you say_ free _Seok?”  
_

_“I did! Which means electronic mail will be available for everyone, and not just between our professors and esteemed students!”  
_

_“How exciting is that?! I heard you can even send and open attachments!”_

_“It sure is revolutionary!”  
_

_“So, make sure to stop by the student union next Tuesday to drop your name and get paired up for the Pen Pal Program. Or, as we’d like to call it, the PPP!”_

_“It’s time for new friends, new loves, new horizons!”_

A sudden thought crossed Jihoon’s mind and it tickled his curiosity so much that he forgot to check if you were still busy before he said, “I have a question.”

Finishing up the paragraph you had written, explaining the methodology you adopted to solve the question, you put down your pen and looked up at Jihoon, who sat across from you at the table of the bakery. The owners practically knew the two of you by then, that whenever Jihoon visited to pick up your favourite, they would ask why you weren’t there by his side.

“Wait, sorry. Was I interrupting…”

“Not at all,” you smiled. “I was planning to take a break after this question anyway.”

Jihoon turned the volume down on the radio that he borrowed from the bakery’s owners. He never really questioned why he went through such lengths to be able to listen to Seokmin and Seungkwan’s podcast whenever he could. Maybe he felt some sort of need to reciprocate, for their support for his writing had always been unfaltering.

“Were you able to catch anything from the podcast?”

“Hmm, something about a Pen Pal Program?”

Jihoon nodded. “Do you ever think… um, well. Do you think people could meet their significant others through that kind of thing?” His eyes pulled away from yours to glance at his notes, trying to decipher the little scribbles he attempted at the margins when a sudden idea popped into his head. “Like, how strange it would be that, uh… That someone would meet the person they would end up spending the rest of their life with, through some random university pen pal program?”

When you didn’t respond, Jihoon looked up to make sure he hadn’t bored you with his sudden pondering. But you were far from bored. Jihoon watched as you failed to contain the smile that spread across your cheeks. He felt warmth burst in his chest, a familiar wildfire spreading across his insides.

“Jihoon,” you tilted your head to the side. “Are you asking me about soulmates?”

“ _Soulmates_ …” He repeated, his stare far away.

You reached across the table and took his hand into yours, your fingers gently caressing the soft skin. “Soulmates, destiny, fate. Call it what you want; it’s that undeniable force that always leads you back to the person you’re meant to be with.”

Jihoon reciprocated by lacing his fingers with yours, staring at the way your hand fit so nicely in his. “Tell me honestly, do you believe in that stuff?”

“If I say yes, would you make fun of me?”

He earnestly shook his head. “I’m not Jeonghan.”

“Then yes, I do believe in that stuff.”

Jihoon paused. There it was again, this notion of fate that Jihoon could never really wrap his head around. His eyes narrowed as he questioned you. “I thought you were big on scientific evidence, what with studying astrophysics?”

You shrugged. “It’s exactly _because_ I study it, that I believe in it.”

 _An oxymoron,_ Jihoon thought. His confusion must’ve shown on his face because you let go of his hand—much to his dismay—in favour of pulling out one of your textbooks from your bag.

With ease, you flipped through to the page you were looking for; an illustrated diagram of the solar system. Jihoon couldn’t guess what you were getting at, but he felt like it was extremely _like you_ to think such a thing. It was consistent, too, with how he portrayed you in his story.

Your finger pointed to planet Earth. “Look,” you said. “Earth being the third planet, at the _perfect_ distance from the sun; not too close that we’d burn like Venus,” you dragged your finger to the second planet. “This place burns around 460 degrees Celsius, the hottest planet of the solar system, hot enough to melt lead.”

Jihoon listened closely, even leaned forward a little.

You then dragged your finger to the planet right after Earth. “We’re also not too _far_ from the sun, like Mars. Can you imagine? This place’s average temperature is minus _60_ degrees Celsius. The planet can’t even retain heat.” Then you paused, stared at the diagram a little longer as your hand retracted back to your side. “And we humans somehow can _live_ on this planet? Our plants can _grow_ here? It’s too crazy to be coincidence. It just… It has to be… Fate.”

Jihoon tapped the back of his pen against his notebook, his head involuntarily nodding at everything you said. It made sense to him. “Last time, you talked about how the universe would end. That too, is fate, then?”

You nodded easily. “Of course, all things come to an end.”

Jihoon opened his mouth to say something but stopped himself before the words came out. But you caught him in the act.

“You were going to say something.”

“No,” he pursed his lips. “No, no. It’s stupid.”

“Aw, c’mon, I just told you I’m so in love with the idea of fate.”

It never took too long for you to win him over. Jihoon breathed, then swore to keep his gaze on his notebook while he spoke. “I was just… Thinking. That, um… That not all things have to come to an end.”

Your silence encouraged him to go on but Jihoon felt the embarrassment weigh a ton. “Don’t make fun of me, I only realised how corny it was until I opened my mouth.”

“I’m not Jeonghan either, Jihoon.”

He chuckled at that, a light, breathy sound. “ _Love_ ,” he said. “Love could probably outlast the universe. Friendship. Things like that.”

Jihoon couldn’t bring himself to look up and watch your expression. He waited a moment to see if you would say anything, but instead, he sensed your figure moving over the table. But before he could process it, you’ve already planted a small kiss to his cheek, lighting that well-known fire in his heart.

“I’ll leave that discussion to the poets.” You smiled. ”But I’m getting the feeling that you’re a little skeptic about soulmates, Jihoon.” Your words washed over him like a sudden interrogation. He straightened his back as your eyes flitted back and forth nervously between him and the surface of the table. 

“Maybe, um… Maybe you could think about… Us?” You said. “Think about us as a case study, and maybe see if you still doubt their existence.”

* * *

Wonwoo lifted his bag from the seat on his right with ease, eyes never leaving chalkboard as the professor continued halfway into the equation. You slipped into the row quietly, murmured a small thanks as you took your things out of your bag.

“You’re not usually late,” Wonwoo whispered back.

“I got my schedule mixed up.”

The professor tapped the blackboard a few times in a bid to draw the attention of all the students at the lecture hall. With one look at the numbers, you recognized this to be one of the questions on the pop quiz last week.

Wonwoo quickly scribbled something on the top right of his notebook, then nudged you to take a peek. It read: _Professor needs to see you after class. Said it was urgent._

You glanced at Wonwoo with a slight frown but Wonwoo didn’t seem to know why either as he shrugged and proceeded to quickly erase his little message.

* * *

Your gravest mistake, one that you inherently _knew_ wasn’t your fault to begin with, was underestimating the lengths your mother would go to stop you. It was letting yourself lose your guard a little, forgetting to sleep with your eyes open.

Standing at the administration office of the university, your knees almost gave way when the spunky lady in the yellow, polka-dotted button-up informed you that you weren’t registered for the core subject required for your major, which you were planning to take next semester, because your enrolment for the following term was _canceled_. Thus, there was almost no point in taking one of your subjects now—the one you had just sat with Wonwoo for two hours in.

With your brows furrowed, you stammered, “w-what… What do you mean canceled?”

“Right here, love.” The lady pulled out a faxed document—that you have never seen before—and placed it on the counter. It declared exactly what she said, that you had withdrawn from the next semester, and there was nothing more you could do except stare blankly at your mother’s elegant, perfected signature at the bottom right corner, dated only the previous week.

“Oh, dear,” genuine concern laced the lady’s voice when you didn’t say anything else. “Were you not the one who submitted the withdrawal form?”

The walk back to your residential college was an opaque blur. Even if you tried, you couldn’t recall which path you took or how long it had taken. You only knew that you stood utterly humiliated at the administration office and then suddenly found yourself, with no strength left in you, in front of Seokmin’s room.

You didn’t even lift a hand to knock on his door, only let a bit of your weight go and leaned your forehead against the hardwood.

Seokmin, as it turned out, returned just in time to find you standing there. What was initially meant to be a playful poke to your shoulder, ended up swaying you a bit further that you’d almost fall to the floor if Seokmin hadn’t grabbed you by the elbow.

“H-hey, are you okay?”

What was so intriguing about having a friend like Seokmin, was to see how he consistently nodded through your fragmented, scrambled explanation. He patiently waited when you took a moment to swallow down sobs that threatened to rupture up your chest and he politely stared at the ground when you squeezed your eyes shut to stop the tears from running down your face.

He handed you a full box of tissues after passing you three separate sheets and he was nice enough to run out to the floor’s pantry and make you a quick cup of tea.

The highest form of comfort that you found with him, however, was the way he allowed you to speak and the way he listened. Even if you didn’t make sense, even if you were all over the place and repeated things you already mentioned, Seokmin knew how to make you feel seen. It was all you ever needed, all you ever asked for.

When you concluded your rant with a flimsy apology for everything you just sputtered unfiltered, Seokmin shook his head. “If you need to get more off your chest, do it now.”

You forced a small laugh. “I’m all spent, Seok.” With some consideration, you held up your empty mug too. “I’m also a little thirsty.”

Seokmin tried for a kind smile but you recognised the sorrow in it. “More tea?”

“No, thank you.”

“What do you plan on doing now?”

You sighed out loud, leaning back into the chair and letting your head hang over the backrest. “I suppose I have to go back home and talk to her.”

“Now?”

“Soon, I guess.”

The administration lady was kind enough to explain your options to you before you left, probably out of pity for the way you stood so cluelessly. Technically, you were allowed to carry on with the current semester for the subjects that didn’t serve as prerequisites for the next semester; which meant, you could continue with your electives.

She told you this was the best option for now, in order not to let your paid tuition fees go to waste. She added that if you completed this semester, you’d be able to temporarily defer your studies to work things out and then return the semester after.

But the very action of settling for that made no sense to you. What was the point at all of continuing with your electives if the core subjects, of physics and astronomy, were not available to you? How could you wake up each day _knowing_ that your main goal, your main ambition was being put on hold because of an unresolved issue at home? Worst of all, how could you possibly sit still through your classes, letting your mother think she won?

When you returned to your room, you pulled out a smaller backpack, threw in your wallet, your Walkman—with whatever MiniDisc was left inside when you last used it—and a small bottle of water, just before double-knotting your shoelaces.

* * *

Jihoon’s growing belief in fate was a seed that was sown by you. He treated it delicately, like something that needed to be nurtured and cared for with time. That only the right amount of water and the right amount of sunlight would allow a healthy, sprout to grow.

But when Jihoon’s eyes landed on you as he stepped off the bus that you were _just_ planning to get on, Jihoon felt that seed shoot roots that entangled themselves deep into his bones. His belief in fate solidified at that very moment and Jihoon would lose his mind if such a moment was explained away by coincidence. Meeting you there had to be much more than coincidence.

Though instead of a smile gracing his lips and the initial excitement that bubbled when he wanted to reveal that exact revelation to you, Jihoon held back when he noticed your swollen eyes—you’ve been crying.

He asked no questions when you pulled your gaze from the ground to meet his and Jihoon didn’t hesitate to turn on his heel and follow you back onto the bus. You didn’t say a word but Jihoon detected a slight pleading in your eyes.

You settled in the two-seater at the far back of the bus and Jihoon quickly took his place beside you. With your bag clutched on your lap, you slumped in your seat, head leaning on his shoulder. Jihoon held his breath.

He lost count of all the stops that passed; strangers stepped on, mostly individuals, some in pairs. He watched as they lingered at one particular stop for an elderly woman. The bus driver let down the ramp and kindly helped her wheelchair inside. Another pair—a middle-aged couple—stumbled in with grocery bags in tow, only to get off right at the next stop. A rowdy couple of kids in their school uniforms also stood up front for a while, before they too got off eventually.

The bus had travelled so far that it left the city and headed for the coastlines. It was at a stop that Jihoon had never heard of, that you finally lifted your head and pulled yourself to stand up.

When you stepped off, you were both overcome by the rush of salty air. Jihoon could hear the ocean in the distance, the sound of crashing waves ashore and the squawking of seagulls. The sun was shrouded in mist-like clouds, barely a stretch of blue in sight.

Jihoon turned to you as you continued to stare ahead. “Tell me,” he said. “Tell me everything.”

Silence hung in the air for a moment before you glanced at him. You reached your hand for his and Jihoon inclined to lace your fingers together. “It’s a lot to take in.”

“I can take it.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah of course,” he breathed. “If it’s you.”

* * *

If you walked far enough alongside the coast until you reached the pier, you’d find a locally-owned convenience store, with its plastic chairs scattered around tables, bright red and yellow umbrellas sticking out from the middle. All its shelved products didn’t differ much from the usual chain mini-marts you frequented in the city, but there was warmth in the smile of the old woman behind the counter and the wondrous laugh of her granddaughter, as she put together a jigsaw puzzle on a small table set up near the staff room.

“Have a good day you two,” she beamed at you and Jihoon, sliding the change towards you on the counter.

Jihoon returned the sentiment, wished her a good week as he grabbed the two instant coffee cups and followed you out.

The area was empty for the most part. You had heard this was a well-known tourist spot in the summer, but spring was still on its way and it was a weekday. A silhouetted figure sitting at the end of the dock was fishing and a little boy ran along the sand trying to scare away the seagulls.

Jihoon never really gave you a chance to fret over how he would react to the drama and the theatrics woven into your life. It was too easy to convey to him the grand gist of things; the rocky relationship with your mother, the loneliness in never being able to share your interests or hobbies, the tiptoeing and cautiousness of when you applied for university, the unrelenting expectations from a potential marriage with Jun.

You didn’t expect much and all Jihoon could manage was, “I’m sorry that this is happening to you.”

But you held a palm up. “It’s nothing to be sorry about.”

As soon as you recounted it all, your mouth turned sour. You hated the way it all sounded; all these seemingly unfortunate circumstances laid out like a dinner spread ready for a pity party. It wasn’t _all_ like that. 

You figured that might be why you also blurted out a sudden decision, one that you hadn’t discussed even with yourself beforehand. In an attempt to amend your grievances, you told Jihoon that you’d be deferring the current semester and returning home. That meant that this semester would not be included in your transcript, that you would immediately pack up and go.

The more logical option would be to play out the rest of the semester with the subjects you _could_ do, as the lady at the administration suggested. But that nagging feeling in your chest convinced you that you wouldn’t last a week if you went on with the semester half-heartedly. You knew this was the gut feeling that everyone says you should listen to; it was a difficult decision, yes, but you inherently knew it was the right one.

You mirrored the surprised look on Jihoon’s face—only because you didn’t think you harnessed such courage make a decision like that—but his expression then morphed into something else, and he frowned. “You’re deferring?”

“I just… I don’t know how else to go about this.” The breeze turned cooler. The boy on the sand was joined by someone that might be his mother. Jihoon finished his coffee and you still had halfway to go. Strangely, you had the premonition that this would be some sort of goodbye. “I don’t have it in me to defy her.”

It was hard to meet Jihoon’s eyes. “This is... Your place though—and your studies. It’s... It’s _here_ ,” he managed to say.

You stared at the table until you felt his face turn away from you. “I know, but I also know there’d be this guilt welling up inside of me if I don’t smooth things over with my mother.”

“You’re giving up then?”

“No.” You stuffed your hands in your pockets. “I’m just… Putting things on hold.”

You recognize that look of hesitance in Jihoon’s face again, when he wants to say something but chooses not to. Considering the circumstances and the sudden tension seeping into the air, you didn’t push it. You weren’t sure if you’d be able to take whatever Jihoon had to say about this. It was difficult to read him. He didn’t look angry or upset, but rather as though he took offence. It seemed that a wrong sentence or a wrong gesture could blow a fuse and you were tongue-tied, never having seen this side of him before.

Then his voice, almost reduced to a whisper, briefly broke through the quiet. “What about me?” He blinked like he himself didn’t recognize why he felt like this.

Truth be told, you _didn’t_ think about him. Not at first, at least. Jihoon was the one anomaly that you couldn’t predict but you wouldn’t be able to say with confidence that you’d easily turn things around to accommodate for him.

Something reminiscent of guilt begins to climb up your throat, and you attempted to comb back through memories to see if you had ever given him the impression that you _would_ put him above all else. Was it cruel that you had never noticed either if Jihoon expressed that for you? Would _he_ put you above all else if he were in your position?

While you both waited at the bus stop to head back to the city, Jihoon apologized in earnest, for questioning you, for finding it hard to support your decision. His honesty caught you by surprise, but you still had to feign a smile when you opened your arms to him. He held you tighter than he ever did there at the stop, buried his face in between your shoulder blades.

The most you could do in that moment, was not be the first to let go.

* * *

Jihoon watched as Wonwoo rapidly unravelled the cord around the PlayStation controller before handing it to him. There was a new two-player RPG game Wonwoo wanted to try out and Jihoon had only offered to play it with him as a form of distraction. Wonwoo knew that too anyway.

“You could just _talk_ to her,” Wonwoo suggested, as though Jihoon didn’t already know it could be as simple as that.

The week-long uneasiness between you and Jihoon wasn’t a fight—no, he wouldn’t go as far as to call it that. Maybe it was more akin to a rough patch, one that Jihoon didn’t know how to navigate through. He likened the circumstances to the climax of a story; the hard part, the knight confronting the dragon that guarded the castle. It would be the bit right before the resolution, where a moment of triumph should await along with a happy ending. Jihoon convinced himself that this part would blow over soon enough, that he would figure it out with you, that you’d find a way to stay.

But Jihoon wasn’t fully convinced, and Wonwoo’s advice became less and less relevant to him the more he thought about it.

Wonwoo pressed ‘start’ on the game’s menu and Jihoon channeled a half-hearted focus.

“We’re not fighting,” he then said, and it was strange to him that he felt the need to explain. Jihoon caught the way his friend glanced at him from the side. “She was pretty clear about what she wanted, I don’t think there’s anything I can say to change her mind.”

They lost the first attempt at the game. Then the second, and then the third. Jihoon let out a frustrated groan at the large text reading ‘GAME OVER’ displayed across the television, before throwing the controller onto the cushion next to him, effectively pulling the cord out of the console.

Wonwoo’s frustration was translated through a click of his tongue—it was after registering what he said next that Jihoon realised it was probably frustration with _him_ and not the game.

“I said talk to her, not convince her.” Wonwoo explained. “Do it to understand her.”

Wonwoo’s words weren’t meant to bite, but Jihoon felt a sting all the same. The advice implied that he _didn’t_ understand you enough, it implied that he _hadn’t_ tried to understand you enough.

With a deepening frown, Jihoon said, “I _do_ understand her.” Then, without really thinking, he added, “I just feel like it shouldn’t be this way.”

“What way?”

Jihoon bit the insides of his cheek, fingers fiddling with each other. “Just... Her leaving her studies and giving in to her mother. She... She shouldn’t have to do that. Or... I don’t know, I didn’t expect her to do that?”

The sincerity took root in his chest when he said it. He truly believed that you shouldn’t be the one to go out of your way to please your mother, especially when you’ve reached this point; having already spent a semester at the university, having already settled and made friends, having already met him. To him, you choosing to go back home looked like a setback, a step in the wrong direction.

“There’s no way to know how things should or shouldn’t be—things just _are._ ” Wonwoo said. “Remember, she’s not a character in your book. I’m sure she knows what she’s doing.”

“What do you mean?”

Wonwoo turned to him and Jihoon recognized the look of sympathy. “Is this really just about her, or is this more about you?”

Jihoon stayed quiet.

He walked home from Wonwoo’s place that evening still feeling rather unconvinced. His uneasiness about the circumstances stemmed from his worry about you, of course. But would he deny that he would miss you? Would he deny that he didn’t like entertaining the idea of continuing on with the semester, after knowing what it was like to have you here? Most probably not.

* * *

“You know,” Seungkwan began, finally being the one to break the silence. “I thought you’d have a lot more stuff.”

You looked over your dorm, most of your things already packed and squeezed into your suitcases. You never did bring much to begin with, but seeing room devoid of all the things that made it _yours_ , felt strange. The walls looked bare without the photographs you pinned up, your desk much larger without all your big textbooks and mess of scrap paper. 

Seokmin sat on the bed with an obvious slump in his shoulders and Seungkwan quickly closed his mouth after this spoke, as if saying anything into this air at all just made the atmosphere worse.

Your flight back home was scheduled in a few days still, but the time spent waiting left you to marinate in anxiousness. You remembered having felt this way before, during the weeks between first revealing to your mother your acceptance letter to the university and then actually leaving your hometown.

But at the time, the only person you felt truly sad about leaving was Jun, and even that wasn’t so bad because you knew you could never grow apart from a childhood friend. It was different now. You had a lot more people on your side that made it hard for you to leave.

“Don’t cry,” Seungkwan then said.

“I’m not crying,” both you and Seokmin said simultaneously. You both looked up at each other, noticed the gloss in the other’s gaze before breaking out into soft giggles. It wasn’t the usual, stomach-paining laughter, but it was enough to lift the sadness in the air.

“Anyway,” Seungkwan chimed, forcing merriness in his voice. “With you gone, we could convert your room into a studio for our podcast!”

You cracked a smile at his banter. 

“Reception said there’s already another student waiting for this room,” Seokmin said, and your lips pressed into a thin line at the reality.

“Oh.”

You peered out the window at college crescent to see a rugby practice taking place. You knew this view like the back of your hand, having looked out this window countless times, each and everyday. But it was the first time you looked through the glass with intentions of memorizing every scenic detail. You wanted to count the trees, to take in the movements of the clouds, to remember the coloured bricks of all the other residential colleges in the vicinity, to just commit everything to memory.

In your gaze, you then also recalled the bakery. You recalled the university library. You recalled the observatory. And all these thoughts, as always, led back to Jihoon.

“I feel like he’s still mad at me,” you said quietly, at no one in particular. But Seungkwan and Seokmin were listening—they always were—and they knew who you meant without mention.

“He just needs time,” Seungkwan said with a sigh.

That was always the case, wasn’t it? That one would understand things with time, that one would find peace with time. But despite your gripping trust in fate, you could never figure out if time really calmed the heart, or if it just forced one to grow used to it. You’ve been leaning towards the latter these days; you knew with a conviction that your mother refused to get used to the fact that you left.

“Yeah,” Seokmin nodded. “He’s probably just mad at himself—mad he can’t do anything to help you.”

You hummed at their words of solace. You were glad to have them give you a perspective you couldn’t see for yourself. “We talked last night but we sort of skirted around the subject.”

“Does he know you’re leaving this week?”

“Yeah.”

“Then he wouldn’t be so witless to stay mad.”

You tried to grasp Seungkwan’s optimism, hoping that you and Jihoon really would be able to patch things up before you leave. It would weigh too heavy on you if you had to part feeling like this, like there were many things unsaid.

Seokmin must’ve noticed the concern still evident in your face, because then he called your name. When you turned to him, his kind eyes filled you with warmth.

“Even if you guys don’t reconcile, it’s not like you both can’t stay in touch. We now have technology to help _exactly_ these kinds of moments! You can talk with him through the Web, and not have to deal with _writing_ letters and _waiting_ for letters.”

He was right; both of them were right. This didn’t have to be the be-all and end-all of your relationship with Jihoon.

* * *

Jeonghan yanked the covers off of Jihoon and the aggression in the movement caught the latter by surprise.

“ _What_ are you doing?” He demanded, throwing the bedcover onto the carpeted floor. Jihoon couldn’t even recall the last time either of them had vacuumed the room.

“I’m... Lying down?”

“You _do_ know that they all left for the airport twenty minutes ago?”

Unbeknownst to Jeonghan, who only barged into the room about a second ago, Seungkwan had shown up a whole hour prior—out of breath as though he had sprinted all the way—to report that you were leaving. 

Regrettably, Jihoon was actually just about to leave to meet his literature professor, in a meeting to discuss the publishing of his work. It was a crossroads that Jihoon never thought he’d find himself at, but he figured that if you could choose your own life over him, then he shouldn’t feel guilt over doing the same.

The meeting went by breezily, but Jihoon could not stop thinking about you. As soon as he left the café, Jihoon checked his watch first thing to see if he could catch up to you. If he had left right then and there, he might’ve. Your flight was on a weekday and at a time outside of rush hour.

Jihoon wouldn’t ever tell Jeonghan this, but what took his feet back to the dorm instead was the bubbling fear of actually parting with you. He had always known that this day would come, ever since you told him about it on that day you both took the bus. But the countdown put distance between Jihoon and the truth that you would actually leave. He just wished it were prolonged for a little bit more.

But now that it was actually here, it scared him—so much so that he chose the flight response over fight.

“Yeah,” was all he could choke out, but Jeonghan refused to accept it.

“Then why are you lying here and not making your way to the airport?”

Jihoon bit his tongue because Jeonghan would never relent if he gave a half-hearted, vague response. “I can’t do it.”

Jeonghan blinked, mouth still slightly agape. Jihoon could practically _see_ the rebuke teetering on the tip of his tongue, but his roommate held back. Whether it was because he finally felt sorry for him, or if he picked up on how his voice faltered, Jihoon couldn’t tell.

“Okay,” Jeonghan mumbled, almost with a tone of giving up. But before Jihoon could breathe a sigh of relief, Jeonghan did the opposite of letting him be, instead resorting to pulling Jihoon up by the arm and channeling enough strength to pull him off the bottom bunk altogether. “We’re going.”

“To the airport?”

“No, to your grandmother’s— _of course to the airport_!”

“ _How_?”

“We’ll borrow the RA’s car.”

And that was how Jihoon found himself sitting shotgun in the RA’s car as Jeonghan drove him to the airport—a little haphazardly if Jihoon was honest. The whole drive was accompanied by what seemed like an overdue lecture, with Jeonghan reminding Jihoon of what you mean to him and how he was supposed to show that.

“This is a classic scene, Jihoon,” Jeonghan rambled on, eyes never leaving the road but his swerves forcing Jihoon to hold onto his seatbelt. “We’re racing against traffic and you’ll arrive at the airport _just_ in time to see her leave the gate. You’ll call her name and she’ll look back and _boom!_ Everything will be fine!”

“You watch too many romantic comedies.”

Jeonghan laughed at that. “Isn’t it the same with your books though?”

“Yeah,” Jihoon muttered. “But this isn’t a work of fiction.”

Despite Jeonghan’s reckless driving and Jihoon’s sprint from the airport lobby to the departure gates, fate knew that he would miss you by a mere minute or so. He found both Seokmin and Seungkwan still standing by the departure and when they turned around to see his crestfallen face, they offered the most sympathetic smile he’d ever been at the receiving end of.

Time didn’t stop for either of you, the rush of the airport didn’t either.

“She did wait for you,” Seokmin offered. 

And Jihoon had always known you would.

* * *

**Date: 17 June, 1996**

**To: jihoooon22@hotmail.com**

**Cc:**

**Bcc:**

**Subject: The Orange Tree**

Dearest Jihoon,

The orange tree in our backyard looks most beautiful in the summer. I like sitting under it to read in the shade, but it’s also that time of the year when the fruits fall and one almost hit me straight on the head! I’ve been reading that book you recommended and you might already guess that I have a lot to say about the main character. He reminds me so much of you. Is that why you think I’d like this story?

My mother and I had an argument this morning, or an altercation, as she likes to describe it. But strangely enough, she didn’t cut me off when I tried to explain to her my opinion. I wouldn’t say she was really... _listening_ to me, but I suppose it’s something worth noting. 

I miss you very much. Do send me another attachment of anything short that you’ve written. It’s been a while since the last one you sent about the swan in the winter. I think about that story so often, maybe a little bit more than I think about you!

(I’m kidding of course.)

All my love.

* * *

**Date: 3 August, 1996**

**To: ori0nsbelt@hotmail.com**

**Cc:**

**Bcc:**

**Subject: Worst Writing Class**

Good morning (or afternoon, or night; whenever you have time to sit and read this),

I started a new writing class called ‘Poetry and the Soul’ and I thought I was ready, but I wasn’t. The professor is quite eccentric and usually those are the best to teach creative writing classes, but it was really hard to focus in class. He kept using these grand hand gestures and moved around the classroom so much my neck hurt. I might drop this one. I don’t think poetry works for me.

I also settled into the new flat today. Jeonghan helped me move my things but it was quite weird when he got up to leave. I’ve been so used to having him as a roommate that having a whole place to myself seems a little too spacious. Wonwoo likes to come over though, so don’t worry about me being lonely.

It’s you I worry about, really. But hearing you talk about your new classes makes me feel so... happy? I am happy for you. Genuinely. Even though I worry, I also trust you and I trust that whatever decision you make for yourself will be good for you. If not, it’d be a lesson learned, right? That’s what writing has taught me anyway. And you.

I’ll talk to you soon. I miss you.

P.S. I heard Microsoft really is going to acquire hotmail next year. Do you think they’ll add a feature to help you change your email? I don’t know how you’re emailing your new professors with this email.

* * *

**Date: 27 October, 1996**

**To: jihoooon22@hotmail.com**

**Cc:**

**Bcc:**

**Subject: “The Girl in the Blue Scarf”?**

Jihoon, you will not believe the way tears rolled down my face when I saw your name, _printed_ on a published book at the book café downtown. I was too busy rubbing my eyes to notice the title of your first published work and when I did, which was at the cash register when the lady asked if I wanted a bag for the book, I just started sobbing. The lady offered me a tissue, which was very kind of her.

 _Now_ I know why you’ve been so reluctant about sharing with me the book you were working on. And don’t you dare be embarrassed! Words cannot explain how honoured I am that our meeting was able to inspire you to write this story. You have to be a believer of fate now, aren’t you? 

The cover is beautiful; the big, bare branches of the tree remind of the one in Front Lawn during the winter time. I’m going to be honest with you though, I have tons of academic papers to read for this class I’m taking, but even if I know I won’t have time to read your book, I carry it with me everywhere I go. I’ll send you a separate email later on, once I finish it all. I want all my raw thoughts to be delivered to you and it’s at times like this that I’m so grateful we have this technology!

Your biggest fan.

P.S. I know you said you’ll gift one to me in the mail but I couldn’t help myself. I wanted to go out and see it on the shelf of a bookstore. This little textbox on the Web cannot contain how proud I am of you. I love you!

* * *

**Date: 28 October, 1996**

**To: ori0nsbelt@hotmail.com**

**Cc:**

**Bcc:**

**Subject: Re: **“The Girl in the Blue Scarf”?****

Hi love,

I wish I was there. I wish I could’ve seen your face when you saw it, but I have to say that I feel a different type of joy reading your feelings through email. That is the story with the main character based on you. I hope you don’t think it’s... strange. I am feeling a little bit embarrassed, only because Seokmin just telephoned me a moment ago and _he_ was bawling as he read out one of the passages to me. Jeonghan then faxed me asking for my autograph, said he was going to sell it on eBay.

It’s all a work of fiction, by the way. The character is based on you but who she became and how I see you are two separate things. That character lives in that world, has her own problems and her own achievements. You, thankfully, live in a world shared with mine.

I also want to take a moment to thank you. I know I wrote the story, but I feel like you brought it to life. Don’t cry when you read the dedication.

I love you.

P.S. Not only am I a believer of fate, but I’ve also been thinking about soulmates lately.

* * *

****Date: 8 December, 1996** **

**To: jihoooon22@hotmail.com**

**Cc:**

**Bcc:**

**Subject: See You Soon!**

It’s official. I booked my flight for exactly one week from now and I feel like I’m going to die of anticipation. Remember that seminar on black holes I told you about? So I took a shot in the dark and casually brought up the subject to my mother and... I don’t know if you would believe this (I don’t think I believe this still) but she asked if she could come along with me to attend it. I was genuinely so shocked to see her look interested in _anything_ I was interested in. I don’t really have high hopes for when the day comes (I get the feeling she’ll bail last minute), but baby steps!

Jun is also graduating in a few weeks, did I mention? Everything seems to be going by really fast. We’ll be graduating in about a year too. But I won’t ask about your plans and I know you won’t ask about mine. We’ll see how things go.

Do make sure Seungkwan and Seokmin have the entire three weeks free or else! I’ve already reminded them this in three separate emails but, you know, just in case. I miss you so, so much and I can’t wait to see you!

Until next week,

xoxo

* * *

**Date: 1 January, 1997**

**To: **ori0nsbelt@hotmail.com****

**Cc:**

**Bcc:**

**Subject: My Next Story**

I’m about to reply to your previous email (the electricity just came back on but I’m still going to have a word with my landlord), but I needed to send this first. 

What do you think about this as a title for a story: “Outlasting the Universe”?

I know it’s strange, but I want to write about a physicist, have the entire story make references to astronomical details and anything space-related. Is that too broad a topic? Is it too niche?

P.S. The ox tail soup recipe you sent me was questionable. I had Seokmin taste test for safe measures.

* * *

**Date: 2 January, 1997**

**To: **jihoooon22@hotmail.com****

**Cc:**

**Bcc:**

**Subject: Re: My Next Story**

Jihoon, firstly, I love you. It doesn’t answer your question, I know, but I love you.

And now to answer your question; that title sounds magical. If you’re talking about telling the story of a love that outlasts the universe, I’m already sold. Actually, you could write three lines about peeling oranges and I’d be sold. But if you’re writing based on firsthand experience, you’d have to bear the consequences of me gushing over you all the time. 

I love you. I can’t say it enough.


End file.
